False Pretences
by Neymovirne
Summary: Harry Potter, PI, goes undercover in Hogwarts as the new Divination Professor to investigate the mysterious disappearance of a sixth year Slytherin. Sequel: In Vogue
1. Harry Potter, PI

**A/N:** Thousand thanks to Sadsnail, my amazing beta.

* * *

 **False Pretences**

A platinum blonde witch burst into Harry's office, throwing her outer robes dramatically over the nearest chair. The robes, that could decently pass as a muggle coat, landed with a heavy thunk followed by a weird rattling, hinting that the flat pockets held much more than the thin fabric would suggest.

She whipped out her wand, and the doors of the nearby cabinet opened, letting out a Pensieve. It flew to the opposite desk, spinning madly. Harry winced; this was an ancient Pensieve from the Black vault, rivalled only by Dumbledore's in the whole country. He did not fancy seeing it fall victim to the witch's temper. The Pensieve was indispensable in their job, and even the DMLE did not have one half as good as his.

Putting the wand to her temple, the witch extracted a long silver thread and shook it off her wand with an expression of utmost disgust. She sighed dramatically and flopped down on the chair. Her hair darkened and grew shorter and shorter into a sleek black bob.

"So…" Harry started.

"Our newly minted Mrs. Smith is indeed having an affair with her great-grandfather-in-law. Her one hundred and thirty-five-year-old great-grandfather-in-law. Getting rid of the memory wasn't nearly enough. I think I need a strong Obliviate and a whole bottle of Ogden's finest to bleach it from my brain."

Harry tried and failed to suppress a bout of laughter, making the witch glare.

"You don't pay me enough for this, Potter."

"Oh, come off it, Parkinson. I know you can't wait to show it to our good old friend Zacharias tomorrow."

"Now that will be a memory worth pensieving, I bet. A belated Christmas present, so to say." Pansy's smile was positively vicious.

"For him or for you?" Harry snickered. "Try not to gloat to his face, at least."

"You know I'm always professional. Unlike some people."

Harry snorted. He loved his job as a private detective. It allowed him to chase and investigate and help people without endless red tape and nepotism of being an Auror. He also enjoyed having new mysteries to uncover without both dark wizards and higher-ups breathing down his neck. He was often more efficient than the slow behemoth of the DMLE, too. Who busted that vampire cult kidnapping muggles last spring? Or found numerous people missing since the Second War that the DMLE had long written off as cold cases? It sure wasn't the Aurors. Not that they ever showed any gratitude. In fact, Robards had been increasingly mad every time Harry showed up in the Department.

Despite all the obstacles the DMLE threw his way, it wasn't those cases that almost made him rethink his choice of occupation sometimes. No, it was the fact that at least half of his and Pansy's jobs involved spying on unfaithful witches and wizards and then dealing with their furious other halves. It was his fifth year of being a PI, not to mention two years of Auror training, and each time Harry thought he lost the capacity of being surprised by anything, his job unfailingly found new and disturbing ways to prove him wrong.

Fortunately, Pansy, whatever she said to the contrary, revelled in this kind of cases, so Harry usually dumped them on her. She was very good with them, too. Still.

"Mocking your clients behind their back is professional?"

Pansy had a tendency to flay anyone who entered their office with her sharp tongue. While some of them did deserve that, she did not need his encouragement.

"I do my job well, and what they don't know won't keep them awake crying at night."

"And what about last week's Twilfitt and Tattings fiasco?"

"What about it?" Pansy crossed her arms over her chest.

"You turned Astoria Greengrass into a cow!" Harry reminded her accusingly. He had to pull in a favour with Dean Thomas to prevent her from being arrested, not to mention spending thirty excruciating minutes smoothing things over with Draco Malfoy.

"I just made sure her outward appearance is in perfect harmony with her inner nature for once. Besides, she is not a client," Pansy scoffed.

"Pansy–"

"Potter, don't."

Harry sighed. Astoria and Malfoy's wedding was looming ahead, scheduled for June, and he could only hope Pansy would not do anything stupid. The cow incident was quite enough. But as usual, he didn't have the faintest idea of how to deal with other people's feelings. He once again wished the precarious friendship the two women shared nowadays was enough for Pansy to open up to Hermione. For his part, he just could not for the life of him understand the complicated feelings Pansy had for the ferret. Having been on the receiving end of her hexes, though, Harry was not going to bring them up unless he absolutely had to.

"Anyway, do we have anything else today?" Pansy asked, not too subtly changing the topic. "I could really do with a hot bath right now."

"There is another appointment with—" Harry consulted with his planner he had gotten from Hermione for last Christmas. He was sure he had been using it wrong somehow. It was bursting with notes and receipts, and there were cuts of shrivelfigs from the last batch of Polyjuice between the pages. "Mr. Ethelred Farley in 15 minutes. You go home, I can handle this myself."

"What?!" Pansy shrieked. "Ethelred Farley from the Hogwarts Board of Governors? Why haven't you said anything earlier? And no, you absolutely _cannot_ handle this yourself!"

And just like that, Pansy was on her feet again, wand in hand. Their IKEA-bought chairs became plush Victorian ones; the wood of their desks and cabinets turned to dark oak; heavy brocade curtains rolled out over the blinds. Another wave of the wand, and the floors were shining. Small Christmas tree in the corner, featuring a shrunk beer bottle, a miniature Sneakoscope and a dubious snowman-shaped item from the new Weasley Wizard Wheezes' adult line, was turned to display its other side with more traditional ornaments. Harry took up a dirty mug with a picture of a funny reindeer he had on his desk, only for it to transform into a gilded figurine of a stag right in his hands.

"Oi! I've spent two hours figuring out how to finally shut it up!" Harry cried. The blasted thing wouldn't stop belching carols when he poured tea in it.

"So that's how you spend your working hours while I'm doing the grunt work? And you only had to tap its nose. Some detective you are!"

Harry had the decency to blush. "Anyway, I don't care if Her Majesty herself is going to grace us with her visit. I refuse to have these monstrosities in my office," he pointed at the chairs.

"Of course, I forgot who I'm talking to." Pansy huffed but transfigured the chairs into the sensible leather ones. "You've never understood the importance of appearances."

"Nope, not me. And get rid of those curtains, for Merlin's sake!"

Pansy complied, knowing that there were some battles she would never win. She did, however, throw expensive business robes at Harry that he kept in the office for this type of meetings, while waving her wand over her body. Her jeans and sweater changed into business attire. She donned her own robes over it and eyed Harry's hair with distaste but did not comment as it was a lost cause.

"I like it when you use your Transfiguration powers for good." Harry grinned. Transfiguration was Pansy's speciality, while he himself had never been very good at it.

"It's still a mess," Pansy said observing the office critically. "Maybe—" She lifted her wand again.

"No!" Harry leapt to his feet. "No more household spells!"

It took them weeks to put everything in its place after the last time she tried them.

"All right, all right, calm your tits." Pansy pursed her lips and cast Tempus. "We don't have time for that anyway."

* * *

Ethelred Farley turned out to be a tall elderly man with impressive moustache and sideburns. Under his forest-green winter cloak, he wore an old-fashioned frock coat and leaned heavily on a cane with an ivory hippogriff-shaped head.

"Welcome to P&P Investigative Services!" Pansy chirped. "Would you care for a cup of tea, Mr. Farley?"

Farley inclined his head with understated dignity that only pure blood and a big vault of gold could bring. Harry couldn't help his apprehension. Despite his long family tree on his father's side and his inheritance—still substantial even after all the reparations he had paid to Gringotts for the war-time heist—he could never feel at ease with this kind of people. Fortunately, Pansy was in her element.

"Mr. Potter," Farley started after a moment of silence. "I'm here today, albeit unofficially for now, in my capacity as a Hogwarts Governor, but also as a concerned member of our community and a grandfather. I have an unusual request that I feel only you would be able to fulfil."

Harry looked at him, face impassive.

"Despite being a proud alumnus of the Slytherin House, or perhaps because of it," Farley continued, "I was quite… apprehensive when my youngest grandson was sorted there the year following your defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. So much so that we even considered transferring him to Beauxbatons. A number of families whose children recently sorted into Slytherin ended up doing that, including three of our Edgar's yearmates."

"Things are that bad?" Harry frowned. "After all this time?"

"The tension is still high. I don't feel that the faculty and, indeed, we as a Board of Governors have done enough to deescalate it. This has resulted in increasingly unpleasant situations that I'm afraid do not elicit an adequate response."

Harry inclined his head, waiting for Farley to collect his thoughts.

"A week before the Christmas holidays, my grandson's friend who, according to Edgar, has suffered from vicious bullying from certain Gryffindors throughout his entire Hogwarts career, just packed his trunk and left Hogwarts with barely a note. He didn't talk to Edgar about his decision, and it seems that the boy's mother isn't aware of his whereabouts either," Farley said. "Now, if it were any other sixth-year, the faculty would insist on a search. But since the boy's last name is Rowle and he is of age, Headmistress McGonagall apparently decided that a heartfelt speech on the dangers of bullying during dinner the next day would suffice."

With a flick of her wand, Pansy summoned a tray with the china tea set. Inclining his head, Farley accepted a steaming cup and took a sip.

"The boy's mother divorced Thorfinn Rowle and took her son with her well before the return of You-Know-Who. To this day, she is suffering from the after-effects of the curse her ex-husband put her under. The boy has more reasons than any other wizard to hate his father, not that it made much difference at Hogwarts. Children can be very cruel, especially if adults all turn a blind eye."

"What about Snape? I don't believe he would let the disappearance of one of his students be swept under the rug just like that," Harry asked. Whatever his opinion about Severus Snape's teaching abilities might be, the man was devoted to his snakes and their well-being.

"Professor Snape is not a Head of Slytherin anymore. As you know, after the war, even with your passionate defence on his behalf, he was sentenced to three years of community service."

"Which were substituted with three years of him working at his old position at Hogwarts." Harry was still incensed about that sentence, especially since Lucius Malfoy got off with a house arrest.

"As a Potions Professor, yes. It was Aurora Sinistra who took over the Slytherin House," said Farley.

"So you want us to investigate Rowle's disappearance?" Harry asked.

"This is a major part of my request. I promised my grandson to look into this matter, and I confess I'm concerned myself. Alexander has visited us every summer, and I can safely say that he is a good boy. Studious, diligent, and not at all reckless. He would not just abandon everything at a drop of a hat."

"I would need to interview your grandson and get access to Hogwarts, preferably covert," Harry said thoughtfully. This would be an excellent opportunity to check if security in Hogwarts had improved in recent years as well.

"Yes, I've already considered this." Farley paused, collecting his thoughts. "And it ties to the second part of my assignment, if you agree to take it."

"The second part?"

"You can take on an identity of one of my distant nephews, and I will recommend you as a substitute teacher. This way, you will not only be able to get to the matter of Alexander's disappearance, but also assess the school situation discreetly."

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. "You want me to essentially spy on Hogwarts for you, Mr. Farley?"

Snooping to solve the case was one thing, but this was a different story altogether.

"It is not my intention to use you for my Slytherin agenda if that's what you are worried about," he said, his lips quirking wryly. "If you conclude that my concerns are unfounded, I will leave it at that. And you will not have to come out with your findings personally if you decide against it."

Harry wondered if the choice of words was intentional. He had come out as gay shortly after the war. While it caused a big and somewhat ugly stir, he wasn't going to hide who he was for the comfort of the general Prophet-reading public.

"You are an honourable and fair man, Mr. Potter," Farley continued. "You testified for Severus Snape as well as for Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, even though your dislike for the former two was well-known at the time. You work with another Slytherin graduate here," he bowed to Pansy. _That attempted to give you over to Voldemort_ remained unspoken. "And if there is a person who can force some long-overdue changes, not only about the Slytherin House, but education standards as a whole, it is you."

Harry shifted uneasily. Maybe Farley had only the very best of intentions, and Harry was far from convinced about that, but he was never comfortable to use his name like that.

Sensing Harry's unease, Farley sighed. His gaze wandered beyond Harry's shoulder, to the Pensieve in the glass cabinet.

"I was a Head Boy when an orphan named Tom Riddle came to Hogwarts," he said.

Harry looked at him in shock. The conversation took a turn he didn't expect.

"He wore ratty robes, had second-hand books, and his Slytherin dormmates called him a mudblood. I showed him a couple of mending spells and hinted where to find some hexes should he need them. By the end of the year, Riddle had had the situation in his dorm under control. Truth to be told, I did not pay him much mind, for I had my NEWTS and my future fiancé to occupy myself with. Then I graduated and never thought about him again." Farley tightened his grip on his cane. "I learned what had become of that boy only after the war, from your interview about the history of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It was quite a shock, to say the least, although it certainly explained why all of Tom Riddle's dormmates are long dead. Aurelia Rosier, the fifth-year prefect who repeatedly insulted Riddle's background, was murdered under very mysterious circumstances."

Harry thought about the memories of the Voldemort's past Dumbledore had shared with him in his sixth year. Tom Riddle showed a propensity to evil and sociopathic behaviour since his childhood, but who knew what a different Hogwarts experience might have changed for him.

Farley appeared to be thinking along the same lines.

"Perhaps Tom Riddle was always destined to become a Dark Lord. But what if some guidance in his formative years could have put him on a different, less violent path?" Farley closed his eyes briefly. "And here we are, so many decades since, still repeating our past mistakes."

"Alright, I'll do it," Harry interrupted. He was aware of being manipulated to some extent. Yet if there was really a cause for concern, he wanted to know. Besides, it did make the investigation of the young Rowle disappearance so much easier. "What position do you want me to fill? I'm good at Defence and even have some experience teaching it, but I suppose I can substitute a Muggle Studies Professor or a Quidditch instructor."

"Oh, no need for that," Farley waved him off. "The current Defence Professor is one of the people I want you to keep an eye on. Fortunately, my wife has a second cousin twice removed working at Hogwarts, and she has long insisted that dear Sybil should take a break to sort her... health issues."

Harry choked.

* * *

"I can't believe I got myself talked into this!" Harry whined not for the first time this morning. He and Pansy spent the last days of the previous year and the first days of the new one crafting persona of one Polyidus Thompson, a homeschooled wizard of dubious fashion sense whose Divination abilities might or might not be on par with Trelawney's. In Harry's opinion, Pansy had entirely too much fun with it, as did Ron and Hermione after Harry told them about the new case at the New Year party.

Ron was predictably doubtful about the whole Slytherin issue, after he had stopped laughing and reminiscing about their glory days of faking dire predictions. Still, he was helpful enough to bring a pile of back issues of _The Third Eye_ , a periodical that put _The Quibbler_ to shame with its conspiracy theories and general madness. Apparently, Aunt Muriel was a true believer.

Despite her general dislike of the subject, Hermione volunteered to outline some lesson plans. She even produced her copy of _Unfogging the Future_ they had bought in their third year, along with colour-coded notes questioning every other sentence in the book. Harry thought about consulting Luna who had just got back from another expedition of hers as well. He already involved more people than usual, though, so he decided to wait on that.

Today, Pansy took Harry shopping and went decidedly overboard with weirdest shirts she could find, bohemian cardigans and, to Harry's horror, a poncho. The thing came past his knees and had a hideous multicolour geometric pattern. She completed the look with an oversized beany and a couple of scarves. He was lucky they decided against going to the wizarding shops, even in disguise, or he would end up with robes worthy of Dumbledore. At least the jeans Pansy insisted on buying were serviceable.

"I don't know why I need them. I have a couple of perfectly good pairs in my closet already."

Pansy huffed. "Those jeans are so last season. And the only reason you have them at all is that I had to bodily drag you to the store."

Harry winced at the memory.

"Your wardrobe is beyond pitiful," she said. "Besides, this way we can put them on our good Mr. Farley's account."

They returned to the office, hours later, laden with bags, since Pansy also insisted on going to the lingerie section. An experience he never wished to repeat.

Pansy produced a vial of Hair-Growing Potion.

"This must be enough to give you shoulder-length hair and maybe even a beard," Pansy said. "You will be at Hogwarts for a long time, so let's try to keep your appearance as natural and magic-free as possible."

Polyjuice was out since sipping from your own flask every hour would be highly impractical, not to mention suspicious. The memory of fake Moody must have been too fresh in the older teacher's minds. Glamours were unreliable and easily dispelled. If used extensively, they also created a disturbing effect Hermione called _uncanny valley_. They had their use when applied sparingly, to change the colour of his eyes or hair for a short time, but Harry always tried to avoid them if possible.

For his eyes, he decided to go with his usual colour-changing contact lenses, and his scar, faint as it was nowadays, would be covered with concealer he borrowed from Pansy long ago. Curse scars couldn't be disguised with the strongest of glamours, but succumbed to the power of make-up. People expected the scar and the glasses, so even that flimsy disguise usually allowed him to go around unrecognized. And for his hair...

The potion must have worked, because Pansy gasped and burst out laughing. She tried and failed to say something a couple of times before dissolving into fits of guffaws again.

"Is everything alright?" The door to the rest of the building occupied by _Weasley's Cursebreaking_ opened, and Dennis Creevey, Bill and Fleur's apprentice, poked his head inside. "I've just stopped by to drop these cursed necklaces and heard the voices—" Dennis trailed off. He stared at Harry in horrified fascination. "Oh my god, Harry, is that you?"

Harry scowled and marched to the mirror. He had never tried to grow out his hair before, but secretly hoped the length would tame it down a bit. Apparently, it was not the case. Very much not the case. When he called Hermione the sister he never had, he did not mean it _that_ way.

The beard was pretty neat, though.

"Well, at least I don't think anybody at Hogwarts will recognize you now," Pansy said, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Maybe a wig instead?" Harry asked hopefully.

"None of that!" She put a beany on his head.

* * *

All too soon, the winter holidays were coming to an end. An owl from Ethelred Farley informed them that Polyidus Thompson was expected at Hogwarts a day before the start of the term for a staff meeting.

"I had Dennis put protective enchantments on your Seer robes and spell the pockets with Extendable Charms," Pansy said.

"You know that Dennis actually works for Bill and Fleur, and you cannot just order him around all the time, right?" asked Harry. Dennis had a crush on Pansy and followed her like a lost puppy, a fact that Pansy used shamelessly. "And it's not a Seer robe, it's a fucking poncho!"

Pansy waved him away. "They just hired him because Bill didn't want pregnant Fleur to deal with all those cursed necklaces herself. Creevey has entirely too much free time on his hands, so I'm just doing everyone a favour, really."

Harry snorted. There was no point arguing with Pansy on that.

"Would you prefer _me_ to charm your pockets?" she asked.

Harry shook his head empathetically.

"Yes, I thought so."

"Did you find Rowle's mother?" Harry asked.

Pansy scowled. "Surprisingly hard woman to find. I suppose it makes sense considering who her ex-husband is," she said. "Anyway, I'm on it. I owled her already on behalf of the Board of Governors. Asked about her son and tried to arrange a meeting. She replied that she hadn't heard from him, but she's not up to any visitors and couldn't we kindly go screw ourselves."

"Maybe try St. Mungo's. According to Farley, she still suffers from some curse from that bastard," Harry said with a shudder, recalling his own encounter with Thorfinn Rowle at the beginning of his Auror training.

"Yeah, yeah, I know my job. Off you go! Unveil some mysteries of the past and future or something."

And so, with final warnings against human transfiguration to Pansy, Harry apparated to Hogwarts gates.


	2. Faces Old and New

Harry hadn't been to Hogwarts since the reconstructions before the first post-war school term. He had been asked to make a speech, and nearly had a breakdown when he stepped into the Great Hall. Thinking back to that day, Harry couldn't for the life of his remember a single word of that speech, but afterwards, Hermione said that he had made everybody cry.

Nowadays, Harry was in a much better place mentally, but the towers of the castle looming ahead against forbidding grey skies filled him with anticipation and dread. Hogwarts was his first home, and it would always remain so to some extent. Yet Harry could still close his eyes and recall the image of the bodies in the Great Hall in every vivid detail.

Minerva McGonagall was waiting for him on the steps, a frozen figure amidst the gusts of wind and snow.

"Polyidus Thompson, I presume?"

Harry pushed his anxieties to the back of his mind and put on an amiable smile. "Headmistress McGonagall."

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." She motioned Harry inside. "Governor Farley assured me of your utmost competence in the field of Divination." The way McGonagall's lips formed a thin line suggested how little she thought about both the Board of Governors' interferences with staff decisions and Divination. "You can leave your luggage here, and the house-elves will take it to your room. I will show it to you after the staff meeting."

They walked rest of the way in silence, save for Harry making a show of being excited at the moving staircase. He had always remembered McGonagall as a stern teacher, but this frigid welcome was disconcerting.

When they finally arrived, the staffroom was already full. McGonagall introduced him briefly.

"I have, of course, seen all of you in my crystal ball, but it's nice to finally meet you in the flesh, so to say." Was he laying it too thick? "Please call me Paul."

Whatever prompted Ethelred Farley to choose the name, he'd be damned if he was going to be addressed by _Polyidus_. Pansy loved it, though. Even after all these years, she was still trying to persuade him to change his name to Hadrian, and Harry suspected she was only partly joking.

The introduction was met with murmurs, nods and stares ranging from curious to disdainful. Harry sat next to a blonde witch who had barely glanced at him from the book she had been reading. With a surprise, Harry recognized a muggle encyclopaedia of aquatic life, the same one he had given Pansy last Christmas together with an enchanted plushy of a certain marine creature.

Harry let McGonagall's voice, talking about Hogsmeade schedule and NEWTs preparations, wash over him and focused on the people in the room. Most of the faces were familiar, but there were some new additions. The witch beside him was apparently Priscilla Doge, the Transfiguration Professor and, according to Pansy, the "real deal" _("Mistress of Transfiguration at the age of twenty, numerous publications in Transfiguration Monthly, and I'm not talking of those silly articles about how your animagus form of a slug doesn't mean you are a bad person"_ ). The man with a scar on his cheek giving Harry a dismissive glance across the table had to be Alfred Richardson. Ex-Auror, Defence Professor, current Head of Gryffindor. Sitting next to him was Elizabeth Bell, Katie Bell's mother, who was teaching Muggle Studies. Harry had met her briefly once while investigating the lost brooch case two years ago. She seemed like a sweet and good-natured woman.

Professor Bell met Harry's gaze and smiled at him encouragingly.

And there was Neville Longbottom, of course, Herbology Professor of the last couple of years. Harry made sure to sit as far as possible from him and avoid direct eye contact. They haven't seen each other in recent years, but out of all people in the room, Neville had the best chance to recognize him. There were other reasons as well, but Harry didn't want to dwell on those.

But apparently, Harry's precautions were quite unnecessary, since Neville seemed to be visibly distraught over something, fidgeting and lost in thought. Flitwick, who was sitting on his right, had to repeat something twice already and was now looking at Neville with concern. Harry glanced at him curiously one more time and looked away. His eyes fell on another man in the farthest corner of the room.

As always, Severus Snape cut an imposing figure. He was sitting with his back ramrod straight, the slightest hint of a sneer on his lips. The high collar of his usual black robes was up, and Harry wondered if Nagini's bite had left any scars. Snape looked the same yet very different from the mean teacher he remembered from his school years or the gaunt man, deathly pale but with his head held high, awaiting his trial before the Wizengamot. In fact, Snape looked almost attractive. He could never be considered classically handsome, but his features were striking and decidedly masculine. He had that air of mystery and danger around him that the current Defence Professor with all his glares and facial scars could only hope to achieve. Snape's hair, slightly greasy as usual, was tied back at the nape of his neck. One of the strands got loose, and Harry had a ridiculous desire to tuck it behind his ear.

Suddenly Snape looked straight at Harry, catching him staring. Harry flushed and looked away, but not before shooting a small and somewhat stupid smile. Pansy was right, he really needed to get laid, especially if the sight of Severus Snape of all people made him feel like a teenager, and not in the way one would expect.

The door to the staffroom opened, cutting McGonagall off and bringing Harry out of his silent bemoaning of the sorry state of his love life. Professor Sinistra, her usually perfect hair dishevelled, hurried inside with a toddler on her hip.

"I'm awfully sorry, Minerva, it's just Estella is teething again, Persy couldn't sleep last night so now he's throwing a mighty tantrum, and John's in that training camp of his–"

McGonagall's face softened.

"Never you mind, dear Aurora. I was just talking about Hogsmeade chaperoning duties, and you don't have those anyway. With two little ones, you have enough on your plate already."

Sinistra sat beside the Muggle Studies Professor, who promptly started cooing over the little girl. The fact that his old professors had families and could even have small children shouldn't have shocked Harry so much, but for some reason it did. Not that Aurora Sinistra qualified as old; she was probably barely forty. Now that he thought about it, Ron and other boys in the dorm always went on and on about how hot she was, with her curves and her curls and flawless dark skin. She was truly a beautiful woman. That Harry had never felt attracted to her in the slightest should have probably told him all he needed to know about his sexuality right there and then and spared him his awkward experiences of dating Cho and Ginny.

The meeting went quickly from there. McGonagall didn't assign Harry any duties or gave any instructions, probably because Trelawney never received any of those beyond maybe suggestions to try and sober up a bit. Finally, the Headmistress asked if anyone had any questions.

"I wonder if anything's been done about Mr. Rowle's disappearance," Snape not-quite-asked in his measured tone of voice.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish, I'd say," Richardson said with a sneer, inexplicably reminding Harry of Uncle Vernon.

Snape sneered back.

McGonagall sent Richardson a disapproving look but otherwise didn't comment. Instead, she took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. "As I've already told you, Severus, Mr. Rowle is already of age, so there is little we can legally do about the situation, as much as it pains me."

"I've written to Rowle's mother again and asked her to contact Hogwarts as soon as she hears from him," Sinistra piped in, sounding genuinely concerned.

At least somebody was, Harry thought bitterly. It seemed Farley was right. Even kindly Mrs. Bell wore an ugly expression when Snape brought up the boy.

"I wanted to make a visit too, but couldn't find her address. What with the kids and all that, there are simply not enough hours in a day—" Sinistra babbled. "Maybe you have it in your records, Minerva?"

"I'll certainly look into it, but I doubt it, unfortunately," McGonagall said dismissively.

Then Madam Hooch asked about the new Bludgers she needed for the upcoming match, and the issue was dropped.

* * *

Harry spent the time before the students arrived trying and mostly failing to exorcise the heavy smell of incense from the Divination classroom at least. Trelawney's office was beyond all hope. In fact, it could hardly be called an office, resembling more of a cross between a fortune-teller's booth at a fair and a storeroom. Three crystal balls of different sizes covered with ornate cloth were hovering a couple of inches above the desk. Heavy burgundy curtains, shut tight, hid empty bottles of cooking sherry. After the first visit, Harry vowed never to set foot there again.

Hoping its true owner would return there sooner rather than later, Harry didn't want to rearrange Trelawney's classroom too much, but the smells and paisley upholstery was giving him a headache. Thankfully, his quarters were at the bottom of the North Tower, far below the classroom. There was a living room with a small kitchenette and a bedroom done in neutral colours. The bathroom had an ancient shower stall and, inexplicably, a huge black marble bathtub with some runes carved along the edges. Taking one look at it, Harry decided that simple showers would do for now, just in case.

As the classroom was evidently a lost cause and there was still time before dinner, Harry decided to venture towards the Astronomy Tower. Professor Sinistra was his best start on the Rowle boy unless he wanted to go question Snape, and he certainly didn't want to do that just now. He was reasonably sure Snape wouldn't recognize him: the last time he had a good look at Harry, discounting the Forest of Dean, the Shrieking Shack and that time at the trial, was when Harry wasn't yet seventeen. Still, with Snape, a spy and Legilimens extraordinaire, one had to be extra careful.

Harry was at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower when something small collided with his knees. He looked down. A small boy around Teddy's age was sitting on the ground and preparing to bawl. His little face was scrunched and has lower lip quivered dangerously.

"Hey, little guy, does your Mummy know you're wandering here?" Harry asked, lifting the boy on his feet.

"Mr. Dragon wanted to 'splore." Crying forgotten, the boy presented a stuffed Ukrainian Ironbelly.

"Oh, is that so?" Aurora Sinistra hurried down the stairs. "You get up here, Perseus, and we'll talk about yours and Mr. Dragon's behaviour and the mess you've left in the living room!"

"Uh-huh," Harry smiled down at the boy. "Seems like someone is in big trouble!"

The boy scowled.

"Sorry, it seems recently the Tower is not enough for this little rascal. He's intent on 'exploring' the rest of the castle, preferably unsupervised. I'm glad you caught him here." Sinistra smiled. "You're our new Divination Professor, substituting for Sybil, right?"

"Polyidus Thompson at your service, but you can call me Paul."

"Aurora Sinistra, Astronomy Professor and Head of Slytherin House. Please call me Aurora."

Harry hummed. "It must be hard to juggle all of your duties with being a mother?"

She sighed tiredly. "You cannot even imagine. With most of my classes late at night, I barely have the time to sleep, and my Mastery is again put on hold for who knows how long. Thankfully, Severus is a great help with the Slytherins. It's such a shame the Ministry and the Board still oppose to restoring him as a Head of House. He is so much more suited to that position than me. Especially what with this Rowle business—"

"The Rowle business?"

"Well, you heard a part of it at the meeting. The sixth-year Slytherin boy just packed his trunk and left Hogwarts with only a vague note, and nobody really cares all that much, since he was of age and his father is a Death Eater," she said, sighing again. "He's a quiet and studious boy, eleven OWLs, so much potential! And he is nothing like his father. He went to muggle primary, you see, and apparently has a TV at home. He asked me once about a muggle documentary about space." She smiled but then her face fell. "But he was bullied by those Gryffindor boys, and I suppose he reached a point where leaving Hogwarts seemed like a better choice. I do not tolerate this type of behaviour, of course, but I'm always up there in the Tower."

"I'm sure you do your best," Harry assured her. Aurora seemed like she was trying her best, and she obviously felt guilty about Rowle.

"You're too kind." Her son was tugging at her robe insistently, tired of watching grownups talk. "Alright, alright, we're going!" She said to him and looked at Harry apologetically.

"It was nice to meet you, Aurora, and you, Perseus," he said. "Are you going down to dinner?"

"Oh no, I rarely go to the Great Hall. But you are always welcome to come up and chat!" Aurora looked at her son. "Say goodbye to Professor Thompson, Persy!"

"Bye," the boy said dutifully, and his mother took him by the hand to go upstairs, while Harry went in the opposite direction.

There were only two free seats left at the staff table when he finally got to the Great Hall. Unlike in Harry's school years, Snape was sitting at the end of the table, with a space between him and Professor Bell. The other seat was between Neville and Professor Grubbly-Plank, who was once again substituting for Hagrid. Hagrid himself was in France again, visiting Madame Maxime. Harry knew that she wanted Hagrid to move there permanently, and it was just a matter of time until he gave in. It was sad to imagine Hogwarts without the lovable half-giant, but if there was someone truly deserving of happiness, it was his first and oldest friend.

After some deliberation, Harry sat next to Snape and started piling food on his plate. His mouth watered at the steak and kidney pie he missed so much from his Hogwarts days. Kreacher made a mean shepherd's pie, but he was old and Harry felt bad about asking him to do anything, much to the house elf's protests. And while Harry was a decent cook, he rarely bothered to make anything just for himself, surviving mostly on takeaway. All this savoury and rich food on the table brought a wave of nostalgia and delight.

Meanwhile, McGonagall rose from her seat to welcome returning students. At the end of her short speech, she introduced Polyidus Thompson as Trelawney's substitute for the time being. Harry stood for a moment and smiled at the students who clapped half-heartedly, eager to start the feast.

Having made certain that the pie is as good as ever, Harry finally turned to Snape. "Severus Snape, right?"

Snape nodded without taking his eyes off his roast.

"I've been kind of dreading being a teacher, but I must confess, the food here makes everything worth it. I'm Paul, by the way."

Snape shot him an annoyed glance, clearly indicating that the present company was unwelcome. Harry's position and the fact that he was wearing a bloody poncho clearly held him at a disadvantage. Oh well, he supposed it could be worse. He could just imagine the response at the attempt to chat up Snape as himself.

Still, Harry was not so easily deterred. "Do you have any tips for my first day? I want to make a good impression."

"Just showing up sober would be a marked improvement over your predecessor," Snape said finally with a contemptuous curl of his lips.

Harry laughed nervously. "Well, there's that, I guess."

"You have to find a balance between being friendly and supportive to your students and keeping your class under control," Professor Bell chimed in. "Try to assert yourself from the very first lesson, or little ruffians will walk all over you." She smiled, "Elizabeth Bell, Muggle Studies and Head of Hufflepuff."

She was giving Harry some more teaching advice when suddenly a commotion started. Having marched to the Gryffindor table, a Slytherin girl around sixteen or seventeen was confronting some Gryffindor boys here age, who looked from mutinous to mocking to outraged. What started as an angry hiss was threatening to turn into full-blown shouting.

"—that you are scum, and deep down you know it!"

"Miss Weasley! Behave yourself!" McGonagall admonished from her seat. She looked at Snape, but he only gave her an exaggerated shrug and returned to his food. The girl just looked at the staff table, flipped her strawberry coloured hair defiantly, and turned back to the boys. She didn't say anything further, just glared at them, not moving from the table.

Richardson stood up and made his way to the Gryffindor table where he proceeded to take a bunch of points from Slytherin. The girl spun on her heel and left the Great Hall altogether, her face a blank mask.

Harry had a lot of questions, but one, in particular, stood out the most.

 _There was a Weasley in Hogwarts? A Weasley in Slytherin?_


	3. Memories

Soon after the commotion died down, Snape excused himself. Harry followed him out of the Great Hall, going in the opposite direction from there. To his surprise, he found the mysterious Weasley girl and another Slytherin boy waiting for him at the bottom of the North Tower.

Harry studied the girl curiously. Yes, her hair was on the fairer side, but her eyes were the exact shade of blue so many Weasleys had and her slightly upturned nose reminded him of Ginny's.

"Can you spare us a few minutes, Professor Thompson?" the boy asked. "My name's Edgar Farley, and I have a very urgent question about Divination."

Sighing in frustration, he motioned them up to the classroom. The boy was practically waggling his eyebrows, and Harry wondered if his grandfather revealed Harry's true identity to him. Unfortunately, one couldn't just go Obliviating progeny of esteemed Board Members.

It seemed, however, that Ethelred Farley had exercised at least some discretion.

"My grandfather said he'd found an expert to look into Alex's disappearance," said Edgar when the door behind them closed. "Although I didn't quite expect him to bring a Seer. No offence, Professor Thompson."

"None taken." Harry chuckled. If they wanted to think of him as a Seer, he wasn't going to disabuse them of that notion. "I assure you that I'm the best man for the job. I will need your help, though."

The pair nodded guardedly. Harry motioned them to the nearest round table.

"Never mind the smell," he said. His attempts to exorcise Trelawney's classrooms of incense hadn't been entirely successful. "Now, I want you to tell me everything you know about Alexander Rowle and his disappearance."

According to Edgar Farley, who apparently had been best friends with Rowle since their first Hogwarts Express ride, the missing teen was good at Defence, Transfiguration and Runes, enjoyed photography and had played as a Chaser in two games in their fourth year. Unfortunately, he was viciously bullied by three of their Gryffindor yearmates: Timothy Higgs, Michael Ferguson, and Calchas 'Cal' Talbott. The tension had been high since their first year, but this year Alex would return to the dorm limping every week. Edgar more than once saw bruises in the shower, although Alex refused to say anything.

"It's my fault," said Edgar dejectedly. "Alex had been withdrawn and more snappish than usual since the beginning of the term. But I just started dating Emma, and didn't pay as much attention as I should have."

The girl squeezed his hand.

"I'd never been close friends with Alex before we got together, but I know it's wildly out of character for him to just up and leave. He'd always been determined, signing up for the Defence NEWT class even though Richardson hates his guts—"

"Alex wants to be a curse-breaker, and he needs top marks for that," Edgar interjected. His expression turned ugly. "He wanted to be an Auror his first year, you know. But with Richardson being a shining example of that… Still, Alex didn't let Richardson deter him from Defence, and it would take a lot more than the usual Gryff bullying in the hallways to make him leave Hogwarts."

Emma took a big breath. "We think those morons did something to him. I don't know what, but it must be something bad. And they looked entirely too gleeful when McGonagall announced Alex's disappearance back in December."

Edgar nodded.

"If I brought a Pensieve, would you mind showing me some memories of Alexander?" Harry asked.

"A Pensieve?" Emma repeated.

"It's a device that allows you to view memories objectively. They are very rare and expensive," Edgar explained. He was obviously surprised. He then turned to Harry, "Yes, I suppose, although I've never used one."

"I'll show you how. Now wait a minute, please," Harry said, and went up to the office. It seemed like he had to use it after all.

Once there, Harry quickly cast Muffliato and called Kreacher.

"What does Master want?" the ancient elf croaked. Harry hated to be called that, but Kreacher stubbornly refused to refer to him as anything else. He supposed they reached a compromise when the house-elf stopped calling Hermione a Mudblood and Ron a Blood Traitor, though Harry heard him refer to Ron as _that ginger abomination_ once or twice.

"Can you please bring me the Pensieve from the office?"

Thirty seconds later, the bowl stood on Trelawney's desk.

Kreacher looked around disdainfully. "Will Master be returning home for the weekend?"

"Maybe the next week, but I think I'll stay in Hogwarts for now. Thank you, Kreacher."

Kreacher sniffed and disappeared.

When Harry came back to the classroom with the Pensieve floating in front of him, the students were engaged in a furious whispering. Noticing him, they straightened up and fell silent. Emma eyed the Pensieve curiously.

"Just put your wand to your temple and concentrate on the memories you want to extract, one at a time," Harry explained.

Edgar drew a couple of silvery strands and put them into the stone basin carefully.

"Let's watch them, then," Harry leaned towards the swirling surface.

Next moment, he was standing in the corridor near the Defence classroom. The students landed next to him, looking around.

 _Edgar and a sandy-haired boy with brown eyes were walking towards the classroom, laughing about something. The other boy was wearing a robe that had seen better times, and a book peeking out from his bag was obviously second-hand._

"That's me and Alex. It's September, before our first Defence lesson this year," Edgar explained in a hushed whisper.

Harry nodded. "You don't need to whisper. They can't see or hear us."

 _A group of Gryffindors swaggered from around the corner._

Harry recognized the boys Emma had been shouting at earlier that day.

 _A tall redhead was conjuring paper aeroplanes and shooting them from the air. Another teen, short but stocky, was cheering him on. A third one, a dark-haired youth with jeans peaking from his robes, was trailing a bit behind._

"The show-off is Talbott, next to him is Higgs, and the one behind them is Ferguson," Emma explained.

 _The redhead spotted Edgar and Alex, and an ugly sneer marred his handsome features. "What are you snakes doing here? It's DEFENCE Against the Dark Arts, if you haven't learned the distinction over the last five years. You hardly need it for your N.E.W.T.s. It's not like anyone would hire you as Aurors." The boy laughed derisively._

 _"Too right!" the stocky boy, Higgs, chimed in._

 _Alexander flinched but quickly recovered. "Fuck off, Talbott."_

 _"Or what? Will you go crying to your Daddy?" Talbott mocked. "What do you say, boys, since this junior Death Eater has already come to the class, how about we teach him a lesson?"_

 _Higgs laughed nastily and the three Gryffindors drew their wands. Edgar and Alexander drew theirs as well. The crowd that started to gather by the classroom surged back to a safe distance, but nobody tried to interfere._

 _"FURUNCULUS!" Talbott shouted, but Alexander dodged and sent his own slug-vomiting hex at him, while Edgar cast Expelliarmus._

 _Talbott blocked both spells with a shield, and the Expelliarmus ricocheted at Higgs. The boy's wand flew from his hands and clattered to the floor between Edgar and Talbott, as the spell was evidently confused with the caster. Edgar and Higgs lunged at it and then at each other, starting a scuffle on the ground._

 _Both Talbott and Alexander drew their wands again, eyes intent on each other, when the third Gryffindor, who had stayed silent so far, conjured a bucket over Alexander's head. Somebody in the crowd giggled nervously. Another flick of the wand, and the bucket tipped over, showering Alexander with greenish slime._

 _Talbott laughed. "That was a good one, Mikey!"_

 _The door to the Defence classroom opened, and Richardson stepped out._

 _"What's this foul smell?" He observed the picture before him with a scrunched nose. "Oh, should have known it's you, Rowle. Go tidy yourself, boy, and report to Filch to get a mop and a bucket. I expect this corridor to be spotless by the end of the lesson. If I see so much as a drop of slime, you'll spend next week in detention learning how to scrub the floors properly," he said with a sneer. "Now everyone else, don't dawdle, get inside. We've lost enough time already."_

 _Edgar, sporting a split lip, looked like he wanted to protest, but Alexander just shook his head and motioned him to go. The crowd rushed to the classroom, glancing at Alexander and whispering._

"It was just one of the many of such incidents, though lately they've become sneakier," said Edgar. "They must have finally caught up to the fact that they end up in particularly nasty detentions with Snape every time something like this happened in public."

"Professor Snape is the only one who really stands up for us Slytherins, not that it does much good," said Emma.

Edgar nodded. "They just talk shit about him, how he is a Death Eater and biased and not even trusted enough to be our Head of House anymore. Well, Sinistra is alright, I suppose, but she is never there, especially the last two or three years," he added bitterly.

Meanwhile, the picture changed. The Slytherin common room had changed little since the time Harry had been there, Polyjuiced into Goyle, at the same time looking much more comfortable than his twelve-year-old self remembered.

 _Edgar came in hand-in-hand with Emma and threw his bag on the nearest couch. Just as they were sitting down, a pimply boy across the room shouted, "Hey, Farley! Is it true that Rowle got expelled?"_

 _"What are you talking about?" Edgar stared at him in confusion._

 _"He ran to the dorm an hour ago," the boy said gleefully, obviously enjoying the attention of the entire common room. "And not fifteen minutes later he returns with his trunk, hiding his ugly mug in shame, and refuses even a word of an explanation. Has he finally snapped or what?"_

 _"Shut up, you moron," Edgar snarled. "Nobody is expelled."_

 _Belying his words, he and Emma looked at each other in concern and hurried to the dorms._

 _The sixth-year dormitory had only two beds, and one of them was in a pristine condition, with a note lying on the duvet._

"Alex's never made his bed properly once all the years I've known him," said present-Edgar.

 _There was no trunk near the bed. Edgar threw the door of the bedside cabinet open, but there was nothing inside. Half of the wardrobe turned out to be empty as well._

 _With shaking hands, Edgar opened the note._

Harry came closer to read it over the boy's shoulder.

 _"To Whom It May Concern,_

 _Staying here has become unbearable for me. Since I turned 17 last month, I hereby officially withdraw from Hogwarts. Maybe I'll be able to find a place where people will judge me by who I am instead of by my parents._

 _P.S. Eddie, I'm sorry. You are my best friend, and I will always be grateful for everything you've done to me. I hope we'll meet again someday."_

"This is a load of hippogriff shite!" Edgar said as soon as their feet touched the Divination classroom floor. "He never calls me Eddie unless we're joking around or something, he would never lump his mother and father together, and he would never ever just up and leave like that! Somebody forced him!"

Harry looked at him intently. "Somebody beside those Gryffindor boys?"

Edgar squirmed and exchanged glances with Emma.

"Edgar," Harry said mildly. "I won't be able to find your friend if you keep important information from me." Seeing as the boy was still unconvinced, he added, "Anything you say to me won't leave this room. Your grandfather hired me as an independent consultant, and I don't answer to Headmistress McGonagall or any of the staff for anything beyond my direct teaching duties." He hesitated. "In fact, nobody here is aware I'm investigating this matter, and I would very much like to keep it that way for now."

The boy sighed and extracted another memory.

"After Alex had disappeared and nobody was doing anything, we decided to keep an eye on the Gryff trio," he explained.

They plunged into the Pensieve once more, landing back outside the Defence classroom, although now the sky outside the windows was dark, and the corridor was lit with sconces.

 _Cal Talbott was pacing back and forth in front of the door, displaying none of the easy confidence he'd had in the first memory. His fingers were crumpling a piece of parchment nervously._

Harry couldn't see Edgar anywhere, but a subtle shifting of the lights and shadows against the opposite wall betrayed someone under the Disillusionment Charm.

"Professor Flitwick must be proud of you, Mr. Farley," Harry said, following the almost imperceptible movement. "This is a difficult spell to master." Merlin knows it took Pansy a long time to learn how to disillusion herself properly. How one could be a near-genius at Transfiguration, yet complete pants at Charms, Harry would never know.

Edgar was visibly torn between preening at the praise and feeling disappointed that he had been spotted so quickly. Emma just narrowed her eyes at Harry with a thoughtful look on her face.

 _Meanwhile, the door leading to Richardson's office next to the classroom opened._

 _"Here you are, lad, come in, come in," Richardson boomed. "Let's discuss your special NEWT assignment."_

 _Talbott came in but didn't close the door properly behind him._

Harry and present-Edgar hurried to look inside through the crack in the door, while memory-Edgar followed much more cautiously and stopped at a safe distance.

Every Defence teacher Harry's time had always decorated this office to their own taste. From the functional practicality of Lupin to pinks and kittens of Umbridge to narcissistic portraits of Lockhart, no two versions were alike. Since Richardson used to be an Auror, Harry subconsciously expected something similar to fake Moody's office: Sneakoskopes and Foe-Glasses and other Dark Detectors. Instead, what this room resembled most was the version of Harry's own office that Pansy was stubbornly trying to create every time a rich Pureblood client made an appointment. Dark mahogany furniture, a Persian carpet on the floor, and the books on the shelves, all bound in leather and with gilded spines, stood orderly in sections of matching colours. In contrast, the desk was a mess, cluttered with parchment, quills, stacks of textbooks, and, incongruously, a Beater's bat.

 _Talbott stood in front of the Richardson's desk, shuffling from foot to foot._

 _"Professor Richardson, I—" He drew a big breath. "I appreciate everything you've done for me, I really do, but I've thought about it— What I mean to say is what we are doing is just not right, and I'm pretty sure it's illegal," he babbled._

 _"Oh, you've thought about it, you say." Richardson's expression grew angry, then smoothed into a fake smile full of teeth. He threw an anxious glance at the door and flicked his wand. The door closed, cutting out his reply._

"Now isn't that disturbing." Harry frowned once they were out of the Pensieve again. "Listen here, kids," he said, making sure his voice sounded serious. "I won't say no more spying, because I remember myself at your age. No amount of dire warnings would have stopped me then. But no more spying on Richardson. I'll look into him myself. Got it? If you want to do something useful, get me that memory of Alexander leaving, but try to do it discreetly."

The Slytherins looked mutinous but nodded.

"Do you still have that note?" Harry asked next. There were ways to check it for authenticity and all kinds of things.

Edgar shook his head. "No, McGonagall took it at once. I guess I could ask her," he suggested dubiously.

"I doubt _Headmistress_ McGonagall would give it to a student." Harry paused. "And one more thing. Do you know where Alexander lives? I'd like to visit his mother, but she's proven to be elusive."

"I've never visited Alex. He always comes to us over summer hols," Edgar said. "I've always got an impression that his Mum's rather paranoid, because of his father, I guess." He furrowed his brow. "He cursed her, back then before the war, Alex's father, I mean. She has been getting worse recently. That's why I don't believe he just ran away on his own free will. He would never leave his Mum like that."

"Maybe he mentioned his hometown at least?" Harry asked.

Edgar thought about it. "Not that I can recall. Only that it was somewhere Muggle." His face crumpled. "How can I not know something so basic about my best friend?"

"I remember him having a slight Liverpool accent when he was younger," Emma said, putting her hand on Edgar's shoulder.

Harry eyed her with curiosity. As he had learned at his job, wizards and witches were rarely able to pinpoint exact accents. Although outside of the enclaves such as Hogsmeade, Godric's Hollow, Ottery St. Catchpole and Diagon Alley, magic folk lived scattered throughout the British Isles, they didn't interact much with the local population and thus didn't develop local accents. And Liverpool didn't have its own wizarding community. For most people, it was just a name on the map or a place where Celestina Warbeck held a concert once. Most people able to place English accents geographically beyond London ones were Muggle-borns or Halfbloods working in the muggle world.

"Thank you, Miss Weasley. I'll be able to start with that." If the boy went to the Muggle primary, there had to be all sorts of records. He hoped Mrs. Rowle hadn't been paranoid enough to change the name as well.

Harry caught sight of the huge astronomical clock on the wall. It showed positions of the sun, moon, zodiacal constellations and some other major planets as well as, probably as an afterthought, time. "Now look at that, it's long past your curfew already. Erm... do you need me to write you a pass?"

"No, we are good," Edgar answered. With his proficiency with the Disillusionment Charm, they probably were. Fortunately for Hogwarts, the last memory showed that Edgar still didn't figure out he should cast a silencing spell on his feet to stay truly unnoticed. Oh well, Harry didn't at his age either. No need to make sneaking too easy for the new generation.

The students stood up.

"You know, when we first saw you at the feast, a Divination teacher in a poncho," Emma said cheekily, "I was sceptical. But you really know your stuff, don't you?"

"Why, thank you for that vote of confidence," Harry replied. "Only I don't see why you would call my Seer robes a poncho."


	4. Vestiges of the Past

Although Harry's first day as a Professor started with a free period, he still trudged up the spiral staircase to his classroom first thing in the morning. He had gone to the Great Hall for breakfast, but none of those who interested him were there. The only other people at the table were Professor Doge and Minerva McGonagall heatedly discussing some Transfiguration issue.

Once inside, Harry sat at the teacher's desk he'd asked elves to find for him the day before—no way he was using Trelawney's—and started emptying his pockets. He fished out a crystal ball similar to all the other ones in the classroom and put it on the desk with great care. What followed was a much stranger assortment of things. One by one, he took out a powder compact box, a galleon, a bezoar, a penknife, a couple of small snow globes and half-dozen Muggle gel pens of different colours.

Harry critically eyed a silver pen that seemed to be empty, fiddled with the galleon, changing the words along its edge, and finally wiped the crystal ball with the sleeve of his robe. An image appeared on the milky white surface, making him jump up in surprise.

His brows knitted in confusion as he peered into a luxurious living room done in silver and green. A fire was cracking merrily under an intricately carved mantelpiece, and a light-grey robe was floating on a hanger over the sofa. Unlike one would expect from such a fickle Divination tool, the picture was very clear and crisp.

In a minute, just when Harry was about to turn away from the ball, a blond man entered the room, putting a cufflink on the sleeve of his obviously expensive white shirt. Harry's eyes widened in recognition. He swore under his breath.

Grabbing the powder box, he clicked it open.

"PARKINSON!"

His own reflection in the box's mirror changed into a face of one disgruntled Pansy Parkinson, clearly just roused from sleep.

"You'd better have a damn good reason to wake me up at this ungodly hour," she moaned, putting a hand over her face. Her usually perfect hair fanned out over the pillow in disarray.

"Believe me, I do. And it's almost ten in the morning!"

"Blaise came from Florence a couple of days ago, so we finally caught up."

Harry looked at her suspiciously. "Is he there with you?"

"What? No!" Pansy cried aghast. "This is certainly not a relationship I want to rekindle that way. Not to mention I'd be sure to catch something nasty after all those Italian exploits of his."

"Speaking of your exes," Harry drawled. "Could you please explain to me just why and for how long you've had surveillance on Draco Malfoy's flat?"

Pansy tensed up and immediately went on the defensive.

"Just because you're posing as a Divination teacher doesn't mean you had to take the ball with you. After all, we only have one. You know you cannot be trusted with breakable things." She sat up, probably so that she could better glare down her nose at him. "And I don't know what you are insinuating here, Potter, but Draco has been under surveillance because he was a suspect in a number of our cases."

"Which cases?" Harry quirked his eyebrow.

"Well, the vampire cult, for one thing!" Pansy said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and Harry was an idiot for not figuring it out himself.

"And what pray tell has Draco Malfoy of all people got to do with vampires?"

"He is a notorious figure honest public must keep an eye on, which alone warrants a close investigation!"

That was a rich accusation coming from Pansy. Harry sighed.

"Cut the bullshit, Parkinson. I know you don't care that stalking is unethical, which is why you're in this job in the first place. But this unhealthy obsession does nothing but hurt you, and you know it."

Pansy's eyes, shining so bright just a moment ago, dulled, although she still looked mutinous.

"Besides," Harry pressed on. "What will happen if he learns about it? I don't know about you, but I'm not looking forward to explaining this to the Aurors, they're too happy to throw up roadblocks for us as it is. I certainly don't want anyone in the Ministry to get their hands on George's globes. Merlin knows what the likes of Umbridge and Dawlish could do with that."

"It's just a modified Protean Charm, not some groundbreaking invention. They could easily develop something similar on their own," Pansy protested.

"They could, but they won't. Not with their _tested and proven ways of doing things in this Department_ ," Harry raised his voice mockingly, seemingly quoting someone. "Anyway, take the surveillance down. Today."

"You are a tyrant, Potter." Pansy pouted.

He turned the conversation to Rowle's case. Harry recounted the previous day's events and revelations, making sure to gloss over his new appreciation of Snape. Judging by how Pansy's eyes narrowed, he didn't entirely succeed. He anticipated many days of teasing ahead.

"From what I remember about Richardson, his anti-Slytherin bias is rather new. After all, he used to be a frequent guest of my father's," Pansy said tensely. Jacob Parkinson, former Head of Department of Magical Transportation and a Death Eater, was in Azkaban for life. As far as Harry knew, Pansy never visited him or ever talked of him outside of their cases. There were a lot of things Pansy didn't talk about. "Dear old Papa called him absolutely shameless once, although coming from him it was most likely a compliment."

"I've sent Dean a message. Maybe he'll tell us more."

Pansy made a face. The last encounter with the Aurors was evidently all too clear in her mind.

"I'd try to track Rowle's mother in Liverpool, but you know I'm no good with Muggle authorities."

Yes, Harry knew that well.

"I'll do it. Old Trelawney has even fewer lessons than she had in our time, with the fifth year combined for all the Houses and sixth and seventh years together with a whopping five people there."

"That's five people too many. Who does N.E.W.T's in Divination of all things?!" Pansy herself had chosen Divination but dropped it halfway through the fourth year.

"Not arguing there."

They chatted some more, Pansy really curious about Emma Weasley. Harry was curious as well, so after she cut the connection, he called another name.

"Harry, old man!" Instead of Ron whom Harry expected to see, the face on the other end belonged to his brother. "That's some beard you have! And what is that thing on your head? Ron's mentioned that you've gone deep undercover, but I hope you aren't actually standing on the streets prophesying the second coming of nargles!"

"Actually, you are not that far away from the truth, George." Harry made a face.

"Do you still use that powder box?" George asked curiously.

A little over a year ago, Harry's communication mirror broke, and Pansy conspired with George and Ron to enchant her powder compact box instead. After a couple of months and many loud protests, George finally made another, more masculine, mirror. By that time, however, the box got Harry out a couple of sticky situation, so he continued to use it and was almost upset when a Jarvey stole it during what was in hindsight a _very_ embarrassing case. Harry recovered the powder box when the creature somehow contacted Hermione during a very important Department meeting and definitely spiced things up for all the participants. It took two boxes of Parisian macarons and a musty tome with an unpronounceable name for Hermione to start talking to him again.

"It's got better reception," Harry deadpanned.

"Gimme that, George!"

George's face disappeared. For a minute, the picture shook violently, showing only a part of the ceiling and rows of boxes.

The battle for the mirror was finally won, and Ron showed up in the mirror, smiling victoriously. He had dropped out of the Auror's training programme even earlier that Harry to work with George in the shop, where his talents truly shined. He took over the financial side, allowing George to focus on inventing and work in his lab. The first year, the profits doubled. Now they exported WWW products to sixteen countries and thought about opening a branch in Hogsmeade. They had also launched a hugely successful adult line, which the Prophet still decried at least once a month whenever they ran out of actual news.

Ron was as shocked as Harry to hear about a Weasley in Hogwarts, and in Slytherin no less, but it was George who actually had an answer.

"It's probably Uncle Lotty's daughter. Dad checked upon them during the war and mentioned that their youngest kid was magical."

"Huh," Ron said thoughtfully, "Haven't seen Uncle Lotty since the day they had that big argument with Mum and Dad when I was what... Five? Six?"

"Yeah, I remember that! Freddie and I," George's voice hitched only slightly, "Fred and I put some Stinking Stickers on his bag that day. Which, now that I think about it, probably didn't endear him to the idea of mending fences. They are a bitch to scrape off without magic."

"Uncle Lancelot is a squib," Ron explained. "I think I told you about him once. He is an accountant and married to a Muggle."

Their conversation was interrupted by a hesitant knock on the door. Harry looked at the clock and swore; it seemed his free period came to an end sooner than he expected. Now he had to teach Divination to impressionable third years, oh joy. Slytherin and Hufflepuff, and he would have their Gryffindor yearmates tomorrow. Ravenclaws this year were apparently all above such inexact subjects.

Closing the connection, Harry stuffed everything except the crystal ball back in his pockets and braced himself.

"Come in!"

* * *

All in all, things didn't go too bad.

Harry had decided to start his first lesson for every class with a speech on the uncertain nature of Divination and what a bad idea it was to base your life choices on it (he only wished somebody had told young Tom Riddle that). With the fourth-year Slytherin-Ravenclaw class, it devolved into a discussion that lasted for the whole lesson, to the great joy of both Harry and students, none of whom seemed eager to start with Haruspicy. He made a note to change up the curriculum. There was simply no way he could keep a straight face pretending to read bird livers.

After the last students left, Harry warded the classroom and set out to his first task for the day. He was briefly waylaid by two Gryffindor girls wishing to know his opinion on the best tea blend for telling the future. They reminded him greatly of fifteen-year-old Lavender and Parvati, down to the pink ribbons in the blonde girl's hair. Nowadays, Lavender was a werewolf rights activist, organizing protests and once even leading a riot in Diagon Alley, and Parvati had her own high-end jewellery store.

He opined that classic Earl Grey was best for mundane short-term predictions, while green Gunpowder tea would reveal insights into a more distant future, but was trickier to decipher.

Having escaped the girls, Harry ventured down. Once on the third floor, he made a show to look lost, peeked into the Defence classroom, and then finally reached Richardson's office. He knocked at the door politely, even though he had checked the Marauders' Map not even ten minutes ago and knew that the Defence Professor wasn't there.

The door was unlocked, so he took it as an invitation.

Inside, the office looked just as it did in the memory, minus the Beater's bat. The stack of the parchments on the desk had seemed to grow even bigger.

Harry brushed the dark leather spines of the books on the top shelf opposite the desk with his fingers. _Complete History of Early Byzantine Curses_ , volumes 1 to 7. Although house-elves made sure there wasn't even a fleck of dust, it didn't seem that Richardson had cracked these books open even once. The perfect place, then.

He took a snow globe out of his pocket and put it on the shelf. A tap of his wand, and the Christmas tree inside glowed with golden light for a moment. Another tap, and the globe disappeared, adjusting his colour and texture to the spines behind like a chameleon.

Just as he put away his wand, the door to the office opened and Richardson himself stepped inside. Spotting Harry, he frowned.

"What are you doing here?" he asked sharply.

Harry pulled his most hapless expression and pretended not to notice the tone.

"Oh, I've been looking for the staffroom for full thirty minutes already! I'd like to know my colleagues better, if I can find them, that is! How do kids manage to ever be on time with all these moving staircases? I think I got to the first floor, and now I'm suddenly on the third! Enough to make my Third Eye all confused." He made a vague gesture, scattering the stack of papers on the desk with the hem of his poncho. "Luckily I've come upon your office at least."

Richardson's left eye twitched. Harry didn't see why he would be upset; the desk looked neater now than before.

"The staffroom is on the ground floor. There is a secret passage leading there behind the tapestry with a unicorn and a thestral down the corridor," he said curtly.

"Secret passages, how exciting!"

"Well, you can explore them at your own time. Now if you excuse me, Thomas–"

"Thompson. But please call me Paul."

"If you excuse me, _Thompson_ , I have a lot of papers to grade. Some professors here have quite a busy schedule, you see."

Harry wished him a cheerful goodbye and left. Desire to stuff that office full of dungbombs was almost irresistible.

* * *

The only other person in the staffroom was Professor Bell. She was sitting in a plush armchair in front of the fireplace and knitting something that looked like a cross between a sock and a glove. Her robes were nowhere to be seen, and she was wearing a skirt with a blouse and a cardigan, all slightly old-fashioned. Harry wondered if she felt the need to dress up Muggle because of her subject. When he saw her that one time at home, she was wearing robes.

Professor Bell raised her head and smiled at Harry.

"I see you're already getting familiar with our secret passages, Paul dear?"

"Professor Richardson showed me this one, or I'd be still wandering around the castle, completely lost!"

"Oh, I forgot you didn't go to Hogwarts," her eyes lit with curiosity. "Were you homeschooled, or did you attend another school, Beuxbatons, maybe?"

He shook his head. "Nope, no other schools. My Aunt and Uncle didn't want to let me out of their sight for most of the year, especially after my parents' death, so they saw to my education themselves."

"That must have been hard for you," Professor Bell said sympathetically. "Well, at least you've got your chance to experience Hogwarts now! I understand that the castle may seem a bit overwhelming at first. It's so nice of Alfred to show you around!"

"He was most helpful," Harry said dryly.

"We are so lucky to have Alfred teaching here! Such a brave and noble man." She positively gushed. "It's unfortunate that he had to leave the Aurors, but their loss is our gain."

"Why did he leave?" Harry asked with interest. "Was he injured in the field?"

"Oh, that's such an exciting story. He stood up to the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement during You-Know-Who's foul regime, Corban Yaxley, opposing that horrible Muggleborn Registration Committee." Her face clouded. "Oh, I barely got away myself, staying with my cousins in Canada. Horrible, horrible times!"

"I'm glad you were able to get to safety, Elizabeth."

"Thank you, dear. Anyway, Alfred refused to take part in that travesty, even though it meant he lost his job. He hinted that he'd even duelled Yaxley. That's how he got his scar," Professor Bell added in a hushed voiced.

"Did he now?"

"He never talks about it, though. He's too modest."

Harry resisted the urge to snort. Richardson didn't strike him as a particularly modest type.

"And he is such a good teacher, too," Professor Bell went on. "Children love him. And those who don't… Well, Aurora might feel dismayed over that Rowle boy, but she just didn't see him as I did. Nasty piece of work. Alfred's always seen right through him."

That caught Harry's attention. "Why would you say that? Did Rowle have Muggle Studies?"

Bell laughed derisively. "Oh, don't be silly, why would a Slytherin son of a notorious Death Eater want to learn anything about Muggles? Of course not, though his friend Mr. Farley was in my O.W.L class, so Rowle would come sometimes and comment on my syllabus."

"Oh?"

"Yes, he had the gall to correct me about computers. And he said that now all Muggles carried telephones in their pockets! What utter rubbish! If he'd ever seen a phone in his life, he'd known they're too big and heavy to carry like that, not to mention that they must be connected to a wire to work!"

"I heard there are some newer models," Harry offered carefully.

"Of course, Muggle technological advancements do not stand still. I as a Muggleborn ought to know that better than anybody! But some things are just too ridiculous to imagine," Bell huffed, resuming her knitting.

She might be a Muggleborn, Harry mused, but she seemed to have lost touch with Muggle word a long time ago.

"They say forgive and forget, welcome all these children of Death Eaters with open arms. As if they'd ever show us mercy if they had their way!" Bell said with surprising poison in her voice. "Mercy! Harry Potter himself pleaded for mercy for Draco Malfoy, since apparently he was 'just a child'."

The way she spat Harry's name made him wince; he didn't realise she had any bad feelings towards him when they met.

"And now he is in the society pages of the _Prophet_ , while my Katie will never have the Quidditch career she always dreamt about, and no amount of blood-soaked Malfoy galleons he threw at us will ever change that!"

Harry didn't know that necklace had long-lasting consequences. He felt bad for not checking on Katie. "What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"That Malfoy boy almost killed my daughter with a cursed necklace back in her last year at Hogwarts. She is mostly fine now, but still has tremors in her hands occasionally, so riding a broom professionally is not an option."

Harry had seen Katie a couple of times after the war, and she seemed happy with her work at Madam Malkin's. He wondered if Katie herself also carried a grudge against him for getting Malfoy out of Azkaban.

One by one, the staffroom filled with people: Flitwick came in with a stack of parchments to mark; Madam Pomfrey dropped over from the infirmary. Hooch flooed in and engaged Harry in an eye-opening, if a little one-sided, conversation about Greek Oracles. Apparently, she had a whirlwind affair with some Delphi prophet during her Quidditch days. He discovered that she had a really dirty sense of humour when the students were not around. Only when the door opened once again to let Neville in, did Harry decide that it was time to leave, vaguely disappointed that a certain black-haired professor hadn't come as well.


	5. Hidden Talents

Unlike the day before, the staff table was more than half-full at breakfast. Harry sat between Flitwick and Snape and was just reaching for some scrambled eggs when a haughty eagle owl dived at him, dropping a red envelope on his plate, and flew away with a glare and a judging hoot.

Harry had just a few seconds to decide what to do. He could just blast the damn thing. Most of his mail was rerouted either to Grimmauld Place or to his office, and the list of people who could contact him directly was very small. Of those, there were only two people who would send him a Howler, and Pansy wouldn't jeopardise his cover like that.

Still, Harry was curious. With a practised swish of the wand, he created a bubble around the envelope that had already started to smoke and put the Howler in his pocket to listen to later.

Flitwick looked at Harry with interest. "I know the ways to destroy the Howlers, but I've never seen anyone preserve it. Is this some kind of a Stasis Charm?" He asked excitedly.

"Basically yes, tweaked to create a vacuum around the envelope. My friend created it." After the war, the avalanche of mail was unstoppable, from well-wishers and marriage proposals to wannabe Death Eaters and disgruntled individuals demanding to know why Harry hadn't saved everybody earlier. It took Hermione a couple of months to come up with the spells to sort that mess out, and Bill and Fleur helped to set up mail wards on him when he first started his PI business.

"I wonder why you would need such a spell," asked a rich baritone on Harry's other side.

Good question. There were plenty of reasons for Harry Potter to use it, but what about Polyidus Thompson? Thankfully, Harry had vast experience with coming up with bullshit excuses. "Some people forget that Divination is such an imprecise subject and get quite mad if predictions do not come true right away."

Snape made a face and turned away, but not before throwing a suspicious glance at Harry.

* * *

After breakfast, Harry roamed the castle a bit, as he didn't want to go up to his classroom just yet. Apparently, McGonagall didn't trust Trelawney to be up first thing in the morning, so Harry had a free period again, and he had every intention to use it productively.

Ducking into the alcove on the first floor, Harry donned his Invisibility Cloak and headed for the dungeons. Remembering just which wall hid the Slytherin common room was a struggle, but Harry was in luck as some late students were coming out of the entryway just as he was passing it.

Thanks to Edgar's Farley memory, Harry knew exactly where the sixth year dormitory was. To his surprise, he found Edgar himself inside.

The boy stared in confusion at the door opening and closing seemingly by itself, his hand creeping to his wand. Harry chose this moment to reveal himself.

Edgar jumped up slightly, looking at Harry with wide eyes. "Professor Thompson? How did you get here?" Edgar asked.

"What a useless Seer would I be if I couldn't even find a place where a quarter of student population lives in this school?" Harry said with his best mysterious smile.

Edgar looked at Harry curiously, "You were a Slytherin yourself, Professor, weren't you?"

"Alas, Polyidus Thompson was homeschooled," Harry studied his nails.

"We've only met once when I was six, but I distinctly remember cousin Polyidus to be blond. And also a squib."

So there _was_ a real Polyidus Thompson after all. Harry had wondered about that.

"Don't you have a class right now, Mr. Farley?"

"I have Defence actually, but I don't see the point of going there." Edgar scowled, "Richardson keeps throwing those snide remarks about Alex all the time, and I'll only lose a bunch of points anyway. I'll just read the textbook for now," Edgar lifted the book he was reading.

"Defence is all about practice, though."

"Maybe I'll ask Dad to hire me a tutor for the summer. I really struggle with the Shield Charms."

"I can help you with those if you want, Edgar. I've been told I'm rather good in Defence," Harry offered. He thumbed through the textbook curiously. It was decent, if a bit all over the place, jumping from shields to Inferi to cursed objects.

"Thank you, Professor Thompson, maybe I'll take you up on that offer," Edgar looked at Harry questioningly. "Erm… Not to sound rude, but what are you actually doing here?"

"I wanted to look around your dorm myself for some clues, see if maybe Alexander left something," Harry explained.

"I've looked everywhere, even sifted through his rubbish bin. There was nothing. Only a pair of dirty socks in the bathroom hamper."

"Do you still have that rubbish?" Rummaging through trash certainly wasn't Harry's favourite pastime, but it was important if unglamorous part of being a PI that did help him solve more than one case.

"No, the elves took it away. There wasn't anything important though. Only a draft of his Potions essay and a half-eaten apple."

Harry clicked his tongue, going through the room methodically. Neither the wardrobe nor the bedside table revealed much of interest, though both had empty hidden compartments, probably from the previous generations of Slytherins. Harry examined the bed and dove underneath. Hidden compartment once again, this time warded with a variation of the Balding Curse, with what seemed like a complete set of History of Magic homework for years one through five inside. The parchments looked at least half-century old, but with Binns still teaching the class, they were likely up-to-date.

 _'Draco Malfoy'_ was carved on the inside of the bed frame, together with the crude picture of what appeared to be a dragon. There was also a wizardspace inside the headboard, where Harry found a package with familiar _Potter Stinks_ badges, which he pocketed discreetly, a Dumbledore chocolate frog card painted over with a clown face, its occupant nowhere to be seen, and a box of mouldy pumpkin pasties.

Next was a windowsill. Harry pointedly looked at a grindylow leisurely swimming by, while Edgar took away a certain magazine, red-faced. At first, it seemed like nothing was there, but a couple of more obscure spells he had picked up from Bill later, an opening was revealed in the stone. Some more wandwork (the boy was evidently serious about becoming a curse-breaker), and Harry took out a Muggle biscuit tin and a leather pouch.

"Hey, it's Alex's! I remember him sharing those biscuits with me last year!"

Since Harry couldn't imagine Draco Malfoy eating cheap Muggle biscuits, he came to the same conclusion. The box, however, was warded even more heavily and refused to open no matter what spell Harry threw at it. In contrast, the pouch didn't have any spells on it. There thirty galleons inside.

Edgar stared at the money. "How did he get them? He is po—I mean, his family is not well off. He took a part-time job this summer, with Muggles, but all the money from that went to his supplies."

Harry took the tin and the pouch. "The box is beyond my skills, so I'll show it to an expert. Any ideas on what's inside?"

Edgar shook his head. "I didn't know he had any secrets from me."

"Maybe it's just a very embarrassing diary. I only hope it's not blood-protected, or it will be very hard to crack, especially without a sample."

"You can crack blood wards?" Edgar asked in surprise. "I thought those were impenetrable."

"There is no such thing as impenetrable, Edgar. Any spell that's been cast can be broken. The only question is whether we can do it without much damage to what's inside."

* * *

When Harry left the Slytherin dorm, the first lesson had already finished, and the dungeons were bustling with students. There were probably hidden passages from the common room to the above-ground parts of the castle, but he didn't know any. Instead, he had to go past the Potions classroom. The corridor was crowded, so he reluctantly took off his Cloak.

He almost reached the ground floor when he heard the voice behind his back.

"Professor Thompson? What a surprise to see you here in the dungeons. Those who live far above don't usually feel inclined to grace us with their presence."

Damn, but the surly bastard had one sexy voice.

"I've just been exploring the castle, Professor Snape." Harry resisted the urge to fidget. What was that about Snape that made him feel like a first-year again? "Are there some interesting places you'd advise me to see down here? Maybe some deep fortifications?" Then again, he had been a very daring first year.

"There's a torture chamber on the second level," Snape said through his teeth.

"Oh, that's... curious, although a little too kinky for me."

Snape gave Harry an indecipherable look and stormed past him in a flurry of black robes.

* * *

Coming to the classroom, Harry was surprised to see the Gryffindor trio, Talbott, Higgs and Ferguson, already there. Apparently, they were a part of his combined N.E.W.T class, with two other students being seventh year Hufflepuff girls. As the lesson progressed though, it became increasingly clear that they didn't hold Divination in much regard and took this N.E.W.T just to have a class to slack.

"We've just started the noble art of palmistry with our beloved and most enlightened Prophetess, Professor Trelawney. If you cross my palm with silver, Professor Thompson?" Talbott had the gall to grin and wink mischievously.

Harry did not have the patience for all that. "We'll switch the curriculum around a bit," he said curtly. "Let's start with—" he looked around. "Let's say, crystal balls."

He waved his hand, and five crystal balls flew over and landed in front of the students.

"I believe that Divination, vague and imprecise though it may be, can, however, serve as a useful tool," Harry lectured. "As I've learned since my arrival to Hogwarts, there's a boy, one of your year mates, who's recently gone missing. So let us open our Third Eyes and try to focus on him in your... orbuculums." Pansy underlined that word several times in his notes and dared him to use it as often as possible.

Talbott paled.

"He is not missing! He just left!" Higgs exclaimed hotly. "It's not like anybody was sorry to see the back of him!"

"Whatever your feeling about Mr. Rowle might be, his mother and his friends are very worried for him."

"As is his Daddy, I'm sure." Higgs bared his teeth.

"Enough, Mr. Higgs," said Harry forcefully and Higgs shut his mouth, looking taken aback.

Ferguson took his ball and peered into it disdainfully, leaning backwards in the chair. Between this class and the memory, Harry could see that he wasn't the most talkative fellow.

"Excuse me, Professor Thompson." One of the Hufflepuff girls hesitantly held up her hand. "But how exactly do we get the image to appear in the crystal ball? I've never quite managed to do that with Professor Trelawney."

Well, neither did Harry.

"Just try to clear your mind of all external thoughts. Let them float through your mind, never dwelling on anything in particular, while you are trying to reach the Higher Planes. Then, after you've reached this state, concentrate on the ball in front of you."

"So it's like Occlumency?" the other Hufflepuff asked.

Harry gaped at her. Yes, he did in fact describe a basic Occlumency exercise that Snape had failed to teach him and Pansy had finally explained to him years later. Minus the Higher Planes, of course. He did not, however, expect a Hufflepuff girl whose bag had a unicorn on it to be proficient in the Mind Arts.

"The basics are the same," he managed to say, "But everyone has their own path to See beyond, Miss–"

"Libra Pucey."

"What's Occlumency?" asked Higgs.

"It's a subject that is not on the Divination curriculum. Concentrate on your orbuculums, please."

For the next five minutes, everybody just stared inside. Judging by Miss Pucey's carefully blank look, she had mental walls to rival Snape's. Soon the boys started to fidget.

"I see a room," Talbott proclaimed finally. Everyone looked at him. "There are shelves with some books and a desk, but the picture is all wobbly and unclear. There is some kind of greenish light there, though."

"Slytherin greenish?" Higgs grinned.

A strange frustrated expression flitted across Talbott's face, but then he grinned back. "Exactly Slytherin greenish!"

It seemed that the Occlumency technique lent at least some results. The first Hufflepuff girl, Aradhya Roy, managed to see the scenes of Alexander Rowle's sorting, him transforming a matchstick into a needle and replanting Mandrakes. Since the girl was present during all of these events, she was probably just projecting her own memories on the ball subconsciously, but Harry awarded Hufflepuff full twenty points all the same.

"For your homework, I want you to open up your Third Eye and concentrate on Mr. Rowle every evening. Report to me if anything comes to you, or if the flow of energy through your Chakras helps you remember any important details that will help locate him."

With that, Harry stalked to his desk to look into his own crystal globe under the glares of three Gryffindors.

* * *

In the evening, Harry finally remembered about the Howler he'd had in his pocket all day. Sighing, he took it out and cancelled the spell.

The shrill voice of Draco Malfoy filled the room.

"POTTER! YOU _WILL_ CONTROL THAT HARPY OR ELSE! I WILL! RESORT TO DRASTIC MEASURES! SHE BROKE INTO MY FLAT, POTTER, SHE BROKE INTO MY FLAT, AND I KNOW IT WAS HER! SHE LEFT HER CALLING CARD!"

"Her calling card—?" Harry mouthed incredulously.

"YOU'VE TAUGHT HER ALL ABOUT BREAKING AND ENTERING AND STALKING, POTTER, YOU'VE TAUGHT PANSY HOW TO STALK _ME_ , BECAUSE LET'S FACE IT, IT USED TO BE YOUR SPECIALTY BEFORE IT BECAME HERS! SHE IS _YOUR_ RESPONSIBILITY NOW! THIS IS MY FINAL WARNING!"

With that, the envelope burst in flames and landed in a pile of ashes on the floor. Harry looked at it for a couple of seconds before grabbing his powder box.

"PANSY!"


	6. Things of Value

"Huh," Pansy mused the next morning when Harry finally managed to reach her. "I didn't expect him to notice it so soon. Not the very next day at least. But I suppose Draco has always loved his shiny things so."

Busy with her make-up, she put the mirror on the vanity, so all Harry could see were numerous boxes, tubes, sticks and vials. Almost half of the picture was occupied by some shiny metal contraption that would not look out of place in that torture chamber Snape had mentioned earlier. Harry really didn't want to know the purpose of it.

"What was it? And since when do you have a calling card anyway?" Harry asked, idly watching a sped-up recording of Richardson office the day before, replaying itself in the crystal ball on mute.

"I was just going to take the globe and leave." Pansy pouted, still aggrieved that she had to take down the surveillance. "But then I saw THEM." She paused dramatically.

"Them?" Harry prompted.

"Them. Deluxe Muggle Transportation Collection."

"Deluxe Muggle—what?" The idea of Draco Malfoy having anything Muggle was mind-boggling.

"Deluxe Muggle Transportation Collection. Gold-plated crystal figurines of Muggle means of transport. Different cars, plane, even a—what's that thing Granger told me about—a racket."

"A rocket," Harry corrected automatically.

"Whatever. Made by Austrian dwarves in an undisclosed location somewhere deep in the Alps. Highly collectable, just 100 galleons a piece."

"100 galleons?! That's madness!"

"The goblins threw a fit; they've been lobbying a ban on import of all dwarf-made products for centuries, but the Muggle Collection has been a huge hit in the rest of the Europe and America already. The Patils wrangled with the Ministry about this for months until they won, and only because the Head of the International Magical Cooperation is a fan."

"So, Malfoy has an overpriced collection of glorified toy cars," Harry said. He still could not believe that was a thing. "What did you do with it, Parkinson?"

"Why, transfigured a figurine of my own, of course." Harry could just hear Pansy smirk. "Not exactly a vehicle, but I'm sure some Muggles could use it for transportation somewhere."

Harry felt a horrible foreboding. "Don't tell me it is what I think it is."

"A cow is a holy animal in India, I'll have you know. And I did a damn fine job with it, even added a golden bell and hooves, too. Why, Patil might just add it to the official collection!"

Harry felt sorry for Astoria Greengrass, who seemed to be a genuinely nice person and didn't deserve to be put in the middle of that particular feud. Pansy was truly the ex from hell. Knowing what she went through those first years after the war, and how Malfoy turned his back on her when she needed him, Harry had felt like he couldn't truly begrudge her at first. And now any protests fell on deaf ears.

"Should I ask Parvati for a figurine of a different animal?" He asked wryly instead. "Unfortunately, it won't help you stalk Malfoy, but—"

"My animagus form is fearsome and majestic," Pansy said with dignity.

It was also totally unsuitable for spying, which was what she was hoping to use it for when she decided to become an animagus.

"Maybe you can learn to turn into an armchair like Slughorn, even that would be more useful. I wonder if every person has their spiritual… piece of furniture as well?"

"What do you mean, Slughorn can turn into an armchair?" she asked in surprise, finally appearing in the mirror.

Harry told her about his first encounter with the old walrus. Pansy's eyes had that glint Hermione usually developed when she had a new righteous cause to champion.

"Oh no. You aren't actually going to do it, right? C'mon, reassure me here. Remember what your last experiment ended up like?" Transforming into an animagus form for the first time alone in the office definitely wasn't one of Pansy's best ideas. Harry sighed. "At least do it with Dennis present." If Dennis Creevey hadn't heard the noise and come to their office, consequences could have been fatal.

Pansy shot him a grin and put the mirror away again. She took the metal device Harry saw earlier, and, to his horror, put it right to her eye. It looked like the scene from some horror movie Dudley used to watch late at night.

"What are you doing with that thing?" Harry exclaimed, turning his head away from the mirror. His eyes fell on the crystal ball. "Oh, shit!"

"It's just an eyelash curler, you uncultured—"

"No, wait, I think I'm onto something with Richardson here," Harry interrupted, rewinding the scene to the beginning and cancelling the silencing spell.

 _Richardson entered his office and took a package from his pocket, enlarged it and put it on his desk. He sat down and then got on his feet again, pacing around the room._

Harry sped up the picture a bit until he heard a knock at the door.

 _Talbott entered and once again stood nervously in front of the desk._

 _"Good evening, sir."_

 _"Well, let's get started, Cal, get on with it!" Richardson said impatiently, gesturing at the package._

 _Reluctantly, Talbott opened it, took out yellow and black Quidditch robes and looked at them intently. After a full minute of staring, he shook his head. "I can't see anything."_

 _"Look better, lad, take your time," Richardson cajoled._

 _"It's not something—" Talbott started, putting away the robes._

 _"Useless boy!" Richardson shouted. "Have you got any idea what I went through to get these robes for you?"_

 _The boy cringed. "Maybe the player hasn't worn them yet. They look new."_

 _Just as quickly as Richardson got angry, he deflated, still looking at Talbott suspiciously. "Yes, that's probably it. What a waste. Well, I'll see what I can do to get anything else before the match, and these… At least I know where to sell them," he said with an unpleasant smirk._

 _"May I go, Professor?" Talbott asked._

 _"Yes, yes, go," Richardson waved his hand distractedly. "I'll contact you when I get something new."_

 _"Goodnight, sir." Talbott fled the office._

"Well. I'd say we didn't have Defence Professors that creepy in our time, but that would be untrue," Pansy said. "Still, weren't things supposed to be improving? What was he looking at anyway? Some kind of robes? I couldn't make it out from that distance."

"Quidditch robes. Looked like Wilmbourne Wasps uniform." Harry eyed Richardson who was leaving the office through the fireplace. "What did he want Talbott to see there anyway?"

"No idea. Some kind of mark? Enchantment?"

"That Richardson couldn't see himself?" But Harry didn't have any ideas either. "I'm going to meet with Dean now. Hopefully, he'll help me dig up something concrete on this shady bastard."

"Don't you have lessons now?"

"Nah, not today. I'll drop by at the office later. I found Rowle's secret box, but he warded it like it's a Gringotts vault. Maybe Bill can take a look at it."

"Do you need me there? I got a lead on Mrs. Featherwright's diamond jewellery set, so I was going to pop to Spain."

Spain sounded much better than the dreary London weather in January. "No, you go there. How is that you always get to go to Spain while I'm chasing Jarveys in Leeds?"

Pansy just cackled evilly.

* * *

Harry traded his poncho for a sensible charcoal grey jacket and tried his best to tame his hair into a ponytail. It would have to do, despite still looking too bohemian for the little diner where he was meeting with Dean. Still, the disguise obviously worked: Dean's eyes slid right past him to the other patrons. Harry waved his hand, catching his attention.

"Blimey, Harry! Didn't recognise you here," Dean said, making his way through the tables. "I bet it's your own hair, too."

Harry grinned. Dean was a decent and honest bloke and gave Harry hope for the future of DMLE in spite of his own general experience there. They became good friends during their Auror training, and Harry was ashamed to realise that he hadn't known Dean before at all despite sharing a dorm for six whole years. They stayed in touch even after Harry had quit the Aurors, and Dean, unlike many, didn't begrudge him for that most of the time. While Dean wasn't blind to the Department's faults, he was also much better suited to work there than what Harry with his disregard for authority and fame could ever be.

"So," Harry started once Dean got his fish and chips. "Richardson. The story is apparently that our esteemed Defence Professor courageously stood up to Yaxley himself. Possibly even fought him in protest of the Umbridge Committee, for which he lost his job. Having met the bloke, I find it really hard to believe. Not to mention that I've never heard any tales of his bravery before."

"Oh, I've heard the tales alright," Dean said with a wince. "Richardson was indeed sacked over the argument with Yaxley. There was an actual warrant for his head up until the end of the war. Not because of any outrage against injustice on our friend's part, though. He was, as I was told, all for 'teaching Mudbloods their place' at the time," he spat. "No, he simply owed Yaxley a lot of gold."

"And then, in the post-war chaos, he spun that into a heroic story." Harry nodded in understanding. "I was going to ask if no one ever does background checks in Hogwarts, but who am I kidding. Of course, they don't. I mean, I'm posing there as a professor right now. While McGonagall wasn't overly happy to see me there, she didn't even ask me for my credentials. Whatever they might be for Divination."

Dean gaped at him. "What?! How did that happen?"

He briefly explained the disappearance of Alexander Rowle and told Dean about the scene that he and Pansy had witnessed earlier today, making it sound like he had simply been eavesdropping on Richardson.

"What are you doing is bordering on illegal, you know. You shouldn't actually tell an active Auror about it, Harry," Dean admonished.

Harry saluted him with his beer.

"Anyway, you're right that we won't be able to do much since the boy is seventeen and of age already. Well, we would start a search if his mother filed an Auror Report, but it's unlikely anybody would get moving until Easter holidays at least, and even then—"

"Yeah, yeah, don't I know the drill."

They discussed Richardson and his possible shady Quidditch dealings before the conversation moved to their various yearmates and DA members. Dean fidgeted nervously.

"Out with it, man," Harry said, taking pity on him.

"It's just... I proposed to Ginny and she said yes!" Dean blurted.

"Oh, that's great, Dean. Congratulations!"

"You're… You're okay with this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Harry frowned before an understanding dawned. "Dean, I dated Ginny when I was sixteen. I'm as bent as they come."

He and Ginny broke things off amicably, though Molly still made hopeful comments all these years later. This made Harry's visits to the Burrow uncomfortable for both of them, and he ended up going there less and less over the years. He hoped that after this engagement, Molly would finally stop. He really missed the Burrow.

"Yeah, we've all thought that before you've got together with Gin, actually."

"What do you mean?" He stared at Dean. "And who are 'we'?"

"Well…" Dean flushed in embarrassment. "Seamus and I, Lav and Parvati, and Justin, and pretty much all the DA—"

"I got the idea," Harry said dryly.

"There was you ignoring Parvati completely at the Yule Ball and your failed attempt at romance with Chang. Then for almost the entire sixth year, we heard Ron and Hermione scolding you for stalking Malfoy and telling you off for having a crush on some _prince_ who was good at potions. We were never actually clear if they were the same person or not."

It was Harry's turn to flush. "No, they're definitely not! And I did not have a crush on Malfoy! I stalked him for an entirely different reason, namely him being a Death Eater and up to no good!"

"I'm actually glad to hear that, mate, because between you and Parkinson… Anyway, who was the other guy, then?"

Harry spluttered, his ears red. "Nobody, he was just—"

"Still carrying the torch, huh?" Dean winked, the bastard.

* * *

Harry spent the rest of the day in Liverpool tracking down Rowle's mother. When he returned to Hogwarts, it was already dark. As opposed to the English sludge, a heavy curtain of snow was falling from the Scottish sky.

On his way past the greenhouses, Harry bumped into someone. A _Lumos_ revealed Calchas Talbott who had a shovel in his dirty hands.

"Mr. Talbott?"

The boy flushed red in obvious embarrassment. "Professor Thompson! I was doing an... extra Herbology project in the greenhouses," he explained. "Professor Longbottom knows I was there!" he added defensively.

"I've never suggested he didn't," Harry said, making a note in his mind to talk to Neville after all. The boy was definitely lying about something, although Harry had no idea what it could be.

"Er... sir?" Talbott asked hesitantly as they reached the castle in silence. "I've looked up that Occlumency thing you'd mentioned at our lesson. I wonder if it would help to—"

"Help to do what, Mr. Talbott?" Harry prompted when Talbott didn't finish his sentence.

The boy shook his head. "Ugh... Never mind, Professor."

"Mr. Talbott." Harry stopped. "If anybody is using Legilimency on you, student _or_ teacher, and it's making you uncomfortable, you should speak up. Anything other than the surface-level Legilimency is illegal without express consent."

Talbott looked at him with a weird expression on his face. "No, it's nothing like that. Excuse me, sir, I must go to the library to... to finish my Transfiguration essay before the curfew."

With that, he fled, the handle of the shrunken shovel sticking out of his pocket.


	7. Old Scars

Both Thursday and Friday afternoons were once again spent in Liverpool. By Saturday, Harry finally had a home address of one Antonia Rowle, who now went by her maiden name Burke again—even though, as he learned, her divorce had never been actually granted.

He stood outside the graffiti-covered wall of the apartment block in the run-down area of the city.

"What are you looking at, Mister?" shouted some boys with skateboards under their arms.

Ms. Burke apartment was on the top floor. Harry was just going to ring the doorbell when it opened, revealing a petite woman with prematurely grey hair and dark circles under her eyes.

"Who are you?" she scowled, hand going inside the pocket of her long coat where she must have kept her wand.

"Ms. Antonia Burke? My name is Polyidus Thompson. I'm a Hogwarts Professor."

After a short deliberation, she motioned him inside, going back into the apartment with a slight limp. The living room with a kitchenette was small and cramped; the furniture there had seen better times. There was a TV, but it was covered with a thick layer of dust. A week-old edition of _The Daily Prophet_ , the only overtly magical item in the room, was peeking out under _The Times_ on the coffee table.

"Did they find Alex?" Ms. Burke asked in a tight tone.

"Unfortunately, no, but I can assure you that we are doing everything in our power to do so. If you could just answer a couple of questions to clarify—"

"Who are 'we'?" she interrupted. "I don't remember Alex's Head of the House mentioning you in her letters, and neither did Alex himself as far as I can remember. And I doubt anyone from that school would be particularly interested in looking for my son." She glared at Harry suspiciously, hand still on her wand.

Harry sighed. "You are right, Ms. Burke, though Professor Sinistra is genuinely worried about your son. I'm doing an independent investigation at the request of Ethelred Farley, Alexander's best friend's grandfather. I am currently working as a substitute teacher at Hogwarts to get to the bottom of your son's disappearance."

Ms. Burke regarded him for a moment. "Well, you might as well sit down," she said finally, taking off her coat. She waved her wand to send it to the coat rack, but the spell failed midway through. Catching it at the floor, Harry went to hang it himself. Ms. Burke sat on the sofa, her eyes closed.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Thompson. My magic has been... unstable lately." She got up abruptly. "I'll get us some tea."

When she came back with the tray and turned to the cupboard to get biscuits, Harry took a blue gel pen from his pocket. Taking off the pen lid, he quickly tipped it over her cup.

From the corner of his eye, Harry detected a movement in the hallway. He turned abruptly, hand on his wand, but couldn't see anybody there. As far as he knew, Antonia Burke lived alone.

Ms. Burke sat back and took her tea; after a moment, her pinched expression smoothed into a calmer one. Harry drew his eyes off the hallway and turned his attention to her.

"My ex-husband left me this as a parting gift," she explained. "I succeeded in escaping him and his friends all these years ago, but as it turned out, there's no escaping his legacy. Not for me, not for my son." Her voice was resigned.

"I know an excellent curse-breaker—" Harry started, but Ms. Burke shook her head.

"The only thing I can do is alleviating the symptoms. But that is of no importance. Tell me about Alex."

Harry told her the facts without getting into the matter of Richardson or the Gryffindors and then asked her about the money.

"Do you know where he could have got it?"

Shame flitted across her face. "He sent me some galleons this year; said he was helping some of his classmates with homework. Truth to be told, I suspected that something else was going on. Even if the prices have gone up since my time in Hogwarts, nobody would pay for their homework with gold." She laughed, but there was no humour in it. "But I can't hold a job anymore, and the only painkillers that can get me up from the bed are very expensive and hard to get. I got a promise from Alex not to get into anything illegal and took the money." She paused, sipping her tea with a faraway expression on her face. "He's got a job this summer too, you know. Had a row with the Farley boy."

"A row?"

"Alex usually spends at least a couple of weeks with his family. Edgar was very upset he wouldn't come. But Alex worked through the summer to get me money, and I let him with only some token protests."

"You deserve not to suffer," Harry said mildly.

"No, that is exactly what I deserve!" She exclaimed hotly. "It's Alex who deserved a happy childhood, but he has to suffer for my sins."

Harry started to protest, but she shushed him with an impatient wave of her hand.

"I used to buy into all that 'Pureblood Cause' rubbish, you know," she said.

Startled at the sudden change of the topic, Harry just looked at her.

"I knew very well that Finn was a Death Eater when I married him. I was proud of that, and excited, thinking he was so daring and mysterious. Of course, not long after our wedding, I realized just who he really was. A monster. All of them were, he and his disgusting friends: Macnair, Yaxley, Avery—" She shook her head, her eyebrows drawn together. "But I stayed because I convinced myself it would better for Alex that way. Finn could be such a gentleman in public, a picture of a loving husband and a father. Everybody envied me so much," she said with a mirthless little laugh. "And then there was this Quidditch World Cup, a year before the Dark Lord's return. Maybe you remember what happened there?"

Harry nodded. He remembered it very well.

"Finn went with his pals to 'have fun with the old crowd,' as he put it. When he returned to our tent, giddy and drunk, he said that the Dark Lord might be coming back. And when he returns, he said, when the Dark Lord returns, he, Thorfinn Rowle, would present his Master with his most prized possession. His pureblood heir."

He looked at her, horrified.

Ms. Burke closed her eyes. "I packed my things, took Alex and came to my parents' house the very next day. Unfortunately for me—" She gave another humourless laugh. "—my family was rather keen on having a Death Eater son-in-law in anticipation of the Dark Lord's return. They've never been his followers themselves, but only because it's bad for business. My father owns a pawn shop in Knockturn Alley, like his grandfather before him. You would be surprised how many of his customers prefer to keep up appearances," she explained. "They tried to persuade me to go back, and when I refused, they just let my husband in, in the middle of the night no less."

"That's horrible." Even the Dursley wouldn't do that. Probably.

"That's how I got cursed, you know. But my Finn is not the only one well versed in the Dark Arts," she said with a vengeful look. "After all, my beloved great-great-grandfather was Vindictus Viridian, a famous spellcrafter and an expert on curses. A truly wise man; hated Caracatus Burke's guts and warned me on his deathbed not to marry Finn. Dare I say, my ex-husband didn't escape that night unscathed. Finally hexing him was one the best moments of my life." She paused, deep in recollections. "But I didn't have anywhere to go in the Wizarding World, and I had to keep Alex safe. So the Muggle world it was."

"It must have been hard for you in the beginning," Harry said.

"But also incredibly freeing. Nobody knew me here, so there was no need for pretences. I wouldn't say Muggles are less judgemental, because they aren't really. They are exactly the same as us in this and many other regards. But they had no reason to judge me. I even wished a couple of times—" She hesitated but went on. "Before he got his Hogwarts letter, I almost wished Alex would be a squib. Merlin knows the chances for that are high in families like ours. He would have been forever deprived of the wonderful gift, but he could have lived his life free of that judgement. With what's happened, I can't help but think that it would be a better life for him."

"Miss Burke," Harry said, "I'll do everything in my powers to bring Alex back safe and unharmed. You know he has a great friend, and I would personally take measures to improve the situation in Hogwarts."

She smiled wanly, "Thank you, Mr. Thompson."

"Maybe you have any idea where he could go? Anything he mentioned in the summer or in his letter," Harry asked.

"No, no idea. He wanted to get enough NEWTs for Gringotts to hire him. My boy is very ambitious." She smiled again, happier this time.

Harry took out forty galleons. "This is the money your son had left hidden. I'm sure he wanted you to have them."

Ms. Burke looked at the gold warily. "That's a lot of money. I don't want to take something that isn't mine."

"Still, I'd prefer you to keep it, Miss Burke."

Suddenly, Harry thought he noticed another movement in the hallway. When he looked there though, it was once again empty.

After saying goodbye to Ms. Burke, as soon as the door closed behind him, Harry sprinted to the staircase leading to the roof. Once there, he took out a shrunken broom from his pocket, restored it to its original size, and mounted it, putting a mild Notice-Me-Not around himself. He wished he had his trusty Firebolt with him. But brooms, especially fine professional ones, didn't respond well to shrinking and other forms of magical tampering, and their enchantments would start to fail after one spell too many. So a second-hand Cleansweep it was.

Harry swooped down to the top-floor windows where he knew Ms. Burke's apartment would be. In the kitchenette, the woman herself was washing the cups without magic, leaning heavily on the sink. But it was another window of what must have been Alexander's bedroom that caught Harry's attention.

The room was small, roughly the size of Harry's own bedroom at the Dursleys', although much more overtly magical than the rest of the House. There was a Slytherin banner over the bed and the Holyhead Harpies poster on the opposite wall. A journal hovering over the desk, its pages turning over quickly. Looking closer, Harry could discern a chameleon-like outline of a person under the Disillusionment Charm.

He weighed up his options. There was the element of surprise and the higher ground on his side. He opened the window with a wordless _Alohomora_ quickly followed by _Finite Incantatem_ and a stunner.

 _Finite_ hit, revealing a dark-haired wizard in a long black coat that looked as close to the robes as you could get and still blend in with Muggles. The man dodged the stunner, however. It hit the chair instead, crashing it on the floor with a loud thud. The man whirled around, assuming a defensive stance and pointing his wand on Harry who found himself face-to-face with one furious Severus Snape.

They studied each other for a long moment in silence. Suddenly, there were heavy steps just outside the door. Ms. Burke must have heard the window chair falling.

"Hop on," Harry mouthed and gestured to his broom.

Snape looked at him and then at the door, making a split-second decision. Finally, he dropped the journal back in the drawer and quickly climbed through the window to sit behind Harry who took off near vertically into the sky. With luck, Ms. Burke would think that it was just a window opening and a gust of wind overturning the chair.

Snape pressed close against Harry in response to his aggressive flying. They were racing over the clouds on the highest speed Harry could squeeze from the old Cleassweep, his mind giddy from adrenaline and the feeling of the strong hands wrapped around his midsection.

He felt warm breath ghosting over his ear.

"Are we going to fly all the way to Scotland?" Snape asked.

Harry flushed. "No, of course not. Let me come down a bit to find a place to land."

They landed in the middle of the countryside and Harry shrunk the broom again. When he turned to Snape, the other man had a couple of pens in his hands. Among them was the pen that Harry used on Antonia Burke.

"Oi! I'm pretty sure that's mine!"

Snape took the lid off the red pen and sniffed it. "Salamander blood… Do you always carry a Magic Molotov in your pocket, _Professor_ Thompson?" Harry wasn't sure whether it was more irony or derision that the word _Professor_ was said with.

"You never know when you are going to need it. My NEWT class certainly makes the idea very tempting."

Snape lifted his eyebrow, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

"It wouldn't spontaneously explode if that's what you are worried about," Harry elaborated. The pen _would_ explode if broken in two and thrown, but Snape didn't need to know all the details.

After some deliberation, Snape handed Harry the red pen and inspected the blue one.

"Just some mild Calming Draught," Harry explained.

"Indeed. Do I want to ask about the other ones in your pocket?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," Harry put on his best innocent expression, which wasn't innocent at all. Still, some explanations were probably in order. "Listen, I'm freezing. I know a nice place in London; let's pop up there and talk."

Snape regarded him silently.

"No? How about the Three Bs? Hog's Head?"

They ended up going to the Three Broomsticks, because it was a non-Hogsmeade weekend and Snape, paranoid git, wouldn't let Harry Side-Along him.

"Is what you said to Antonia Burke true?" Snape asked after putting up a non-verbal _Muffliato_.

"Yes, all of it. Did you find anything interesting in Alexander's stuff?"

"No, nothing of interest. However, I was rather rudely interrupted."

Harry grinned, but then frowned. "Do you think going back would be worth it?"

"I don't believe so." Snape shook his head. "Although I don't see why you would trust me on this."

"What do you mean?" Harry looked at him in surprise. "Why would you lie to me? I've got an impression that you want to get to the bottom of this as much as me."

"Ah, but some might say I'm not a very... trustworthy individual. Maybe I've had a hand in Mr. Rowle's disappearance myself." Snape's face was impassive.

"That's silly. What reason would you have for that?"

"And yet you've implied to Burke that you suspected involvement of someone on the staff."

"I didn't mean you!" But Harry could see why Snape would think that way. An outsider would probably see Snape's actions today as highly suspicious, especially hearing all the rumours about him.

"Oh?"

"If you want to know, Professor, it seems that Richardson is involved into some shady business. I'm not sure how and if it's related to Rowle, though," he said.

Snape sneered. "Our noble ex-Auror is fair and just. Anyone who dares to contest that notion is just doing it out of spite and won't be taken seriously."

"We'll see about that," Harry said. "Do you have any ideas where Alexander might be, Professor?"

"You don't need to call me Professor. You are not and thankfully never were my student," Snape regarded Harry oddly for a moment.

Harry flushed. "Alright... Severus." The name felt strange on his lips. "Please call me H—Paul then," Harry added as an afterthought. Did he almost say 'Harry'? He wasn't so unfocused undercover in years.

Snape returned to the topic at hand. "Unfortunately, I'm not aware of any places young Mr. Rowle might have gone," he said. "Except for Farley Manor, perhaps, but if Governor Farley did hire you—"

A drunken man slightly older than Harry staggered to their table.

"You!" He pointed his shaking finger at Snape. "Death Eater scum! How dare you show your ugly mug around decent people?"

Some of the people at the table nearby cheered in agreement. Harry recognised Cormac McLaggen among that crowd.

Snape's face lost all expression.

Harry leapt to defence. "Severus Snape is a war hero and has more right to be here than any of you!"

"No brawls in my pub, Ancrum!" Madam Rosmerta made her way to them between the tables. "Go back to your table now or leave!" She turned to the others. "And don't think I will hesitate to toss any of you out of your ear if you've come here to pick fights!"

"We're already leaving, Rosmerta." Snape stood up as well.

Her eyes softened. "You don't have to leave on their account, Severus. The Three Broomsticks isn't the same without you around."

"Clearly, not everybody shares this sentiment."

She pursed her lips. "Idiots. I'll probably still end up throwing them out later."

They went back to Hogwarts. The foot-deep snow that kept parting under Snape's wand only to fall back behind them again, looking fresh and untouched.

"You don't need to do that," he said, keeping his eyes trained on his wand.

"Do what?" Harry asked in confusion.

"Try to ingratiate yourself with me like that. I will assist you in your search for Mr. Rowle even without—"

Harry gaped at him. "I didn't tell that drunken twat off to… to ingratiate myself or to brown-nose or something! I did it because it was the right thing to do!"

"Be it as it may, but I don't need anyone to fight my battles for me."

"Some battles you cannot win on your own," he protested mildly, opening the doors to the Great Hall.

"You don't know anything about me, Thompson."

"Paul," Harry corrected.

"You don't know anything about me, Paul."

Before Harry could answer, he saw two familiar Slytherins making their way to him. Noticing his companion, they made a sudden turn to a different direction, heading to the stairs.

Snape noticed them too. "I see you have certain students demanding your discrete attention."

"They are incredibly unsubtle, aren't they?" Harry chuckled.

"Students are rarely as subtle as they think, even those of my own House."

Harry smiled. "Well, I'd better go then. See you tomorrow, Severus."

Snape nodded and strode to the dungeons.


	8. Disguises

Once again, Harry found himself in a memory of the Slytherin common room with Edgar Farley and Emma Weasley. They've just witnessed Alexander, eyes downcast, go in the direction of the dorms.

"He seemed... hesitant," Emma commented.

"His whole posture was strange. I can't put my finger on it, but something is off."

Before Edgar could elaborate, memory-Alexander appeared from the dorms again, trunk in his hand. His head was once again hanging low, hair falling over the forehead and half-obscuring his face.

Edgar rushed to him and stopped suddenly. "He is shorter than me! Why is he shorter than me?"

"Yeah, I don't think you've had a growth spurt this month, and Alex was a good two inches taller than you," Emma agreed.

Other students in an overcrowded common room started to notice Alexander.

 _"Where are you going with your trunk, Rowle?"_

 _"Holidays are not in another two weeks; did you celebrate our Quidditch victory a little too much yesterday?"_

 _A burly Slytherin bumped into him, and Alexander lifted his head for a moment._

Edgar gasped. Harry looked at him questioningly.

"It's Alex, but at the same time… He looks different. Like his near-identical twin or something."

"Yes, I can see it too now," Emma agreed. "All the bits are right, but when put together—"

 _Not-quite-Alexander was at the entrance already, paying no mind to the questions and comments of the students around him._

Harry waved his hand, and the scene froze. Coming over to the boy as well, he studied him closely. He did seem different from the boy Harry had seen in that first memory somehow, although if Edgar hadn't pointed that out, he would have never picked up on that.

"Is it a glamour?" Emma asked. "I've seen some girls overdo it, and their faces just look weird."

"I've seen Alex put a glamour on a bruise once. He certainly did not look like this," Edgar chimed in. "But then why is he's shorter? Or do you mean it's somebody else in disguise? It makes sense!" He exclaimed in agitation.

"No, it doesn't." Harry shook his head. "Even putting general extensive glamour is easily detectable. Have you seen any new pictures of Celestina Warbeck lately? She has that slightly plasticky look on her skin no matter what, even with the best experts working for her." He had caught one of those experts this summer. The guy decided to vanish with a large sum of Celestina's galleons and start a new career of a rich layabout on Ibiza. "Using Glamour Charms to emulate somebody else's features would be glaringly obvious this close. That is why people use Polyjuice Potion, even if it's restricted and quite difficult to brew. But with Polyjuice, the impostor would look exactly like Alexander, down to every minor detail."

"Maybe the potion was brewed badly?" Edgar suggested.

Harry thought about it. Hermione once turned into a part cat, but it was not because the potion itself was faulty. With his own earlier, imperfect attempts to brew Polyjuice, it just worked for a shorter period than an hour.

"I don't know if it can have that effect," he said truthfully. "I need to consult somebody with better knowledge of Potions."

"You seemed friendly with Professor Snape today," Emma said with a snicker.

Harry glared at her, waving his hand for the memory to resume. They watched as the exit closed after memory-Alexander before finding themselves back in the Divination classroom. The mood sobered again.

"I was right that Alex wouldn't just leave," said Edgar grimly. "But this is something else entirely! We must catch Talbott and make him come clean!"

" _You_ mustn't do anything, do you hear me?" Harry warned. "We don't know for sure if Mr. Talbott has anything to do with this, and even if he does—" Harry raised his hand, forestalling Edgar's protests. "Even if he does, he couldn't have done this alone. We don't want to spook whoever is responsible. And I certainly want to keep it out of the staffroom for now."

"Makes sense," Edgar grumbled.

"Have a little patience. We'll get to the bottom of this," Harry said. "Now. Have you figured out your Shield Charms?"

The next hour was spent coaching Edgar and Emma through first verbal and then non-verbal _Protego_. One of them had to fire various spells and try not to repeat themselves much, and the other had to deflect them with the shield.

"Emma, adjust your grip and don't overpower your _Expelliarmus_. You might think that you don't need to relearn the basics at this point, but believe me, it will do you good in the future. Now try disarming non-verbally as well.

"Edgar, don't just stand there stock-still, move and dodge. Just because we are only learning _Protego_ , is no reason to pick up bad duelling habits along the way.

"It's a nice fancy hex, but the incantation has FOUR words in it! Your opponent won't wait for you to finish casting it as patiently as Edgar here! Oh, Richardson taught you that… Well, keep it in mind on the off-chance it pops up in the exam, I'd say.

"Come here so I can remove those donkey ears. Let it be the lesson for you to remain alert all the time. As one great Auror used to say, CONSTANT VIGILANCE! You should at least be able to notice your own spell reflected straight back at you!

"Well done, guys. You've mastered non-verbal _Protego_."

Teaching Defence was _fun_ , Harry thought, restoring the tables to the middle of the classroom. If only he could teach that instead of bloody Divination.

* * *

Still, Harry pondered with a little bit more cheer while walking down to the dungeons the next day, at least as a Divination Professor, he had way more free time than any DADA teacher could ever hope for.

Snape opened the door to his office in a very grumpy mood.

"Can't you see my office hours written in big letters for the dunderheads like you? Whatever it is, it'd better be good!" he ranted. "Oh, it's you, Paul. You know there's an internal floo system in the castle, right?"

"I didn't want to presume."

"And yet you still pounded at my door for five minutes straight. I was in the middle of brewing. The charm alerting me to that is very distracting, I'll have you know."

"I'm sorry," Harry said sheepishly. "But hey! If you were in your lab, I wouldn't've been able to reach you by your office floo anyway!"

Snape shrugged, unrepentant. He led Harry through his office, which still had far too many nasty things floating in the jars for Harry's taste, to his private quarters hidden behind the bookshelf.

Harry looked around curiously. The living room was not much bigger than his own, but far more lived-in. The enchanted window showed the frozen Great Lake, and the walls were lined with bookshelves. The leather of the sofa and the armchair was well-worn, and there was an old record player on the coffee table.

Snape waved his wand, lighting the fireplace.

"To what do I owe the honour?"

"You promised to show me your torture chamber?" Harry said before he could hold his tongue.

"Did I?" Snape inclined his head as if seriously contemplating it.

"Erm—" Harry suddenly decided that this would be the best moment to get down to business. He told Snape about the memory he saw in Pensieve yesterday. "Can Polyjuice do that?" he asked finally.

Snape pondered over the question. "I suppose if you add too little boomslang skin or if it's past its prime… But that would usually result in the hair or certain body parts remaining unchanged."

Harry remembered Teddy and his mother's talent. "Are there any Metamorphmagi in the school right now?"

"Not that I know of. This ability is extremely rare."

"Then Polyjuice remains our best option," he said, thinking aloud. "Has anyone raided your private supplies this year?"

"A couple of times. But not the ingredients for Polyjuice," Snape said

Harry gaped at his unconcerned voice.

"There are always some students too embarrassed to go to the school Mediwitch or to me directly with their... problems," he elaborated. "Obviously, I could ward the stores in my office so that no student so much as sniffs at it. Those imbeciles then would resort to brewing with poor-quality ingredients they got who knows where or just suffer silently. And the consequences of that would be much harder to treat. All the truly dangerous ingredients are in my private lab anyway."

"That's… nice of you," Harry said in a slightly stupefied tone. He never before thought about the reason why Snape's stores were so easy to access even for the second-years, however precocious, but this explanation made sense.

Snape sneered. "There's nothing _nice_ about me. It's a school full of brainless children who invent new ways to get into trouble each and every year. I want to spend as little of my precious time as possible dealing with them. Because who do you think will have to brew complicated cures otherwise?"

"Whatever you say, Severus." Harry smiled.

They were interrupted by a voice coming from Snape's office. "Severus? Can you come to the floo, please?"

Excusing himself, Snape went to his office. He left the door slightly ajar, so Harry didn't feel too bad for listening in.

Apparently, Professor Doge needed some Gillyweed.

"I'm conducting some experiments with Transfiguration underwater, and I've run out of this stuff at the crucial moment. You are a lifesaver, Severus!"

"Priscilla."

That reminded Harry that he needed to visit Neville. Still, he stayed in Snape's quarters for another hour, until some fifth-year Slytherins called him to break up a fight. One of the students kept trying to describe the situation in limericks, and another belched up coloured bubbles.

All in all, Harry left in good spirits and he even caught himself humming a tune as he was crossing the Great Hall. He didn't, however, want to examine his mood too closely, especially when it was bound to be soured quite soon.

* * *

Unlike the outside world, cold and painted mostly in the shades of grey, the greenhouses were bustling with warmth and colour. Some curious vines were following Harry as he made his way past giant crimson Fanged Geraniums, purple Bouncing Bulbs, and a bed of blue roses that giggled melodically as he went by. There was a row of empty pots just like the ones they once used to replant the Mandrakes. These and many more plants whose names he couldn't remember were lovingly arranged in perfect chaos. Harry had visited Neville's own greenhouse at his Grandmother's all those years ago and thought it was rather impressive, but here Neville truly shined.

Lifting his hand to knock on the door of the office that used to be Sprout's, he heard shouting on the other side.

"I'm asking you for the last time, Neville. Talk to your Grandmother!" The female voice was frustrated and angry. "I've quite resigned myself to having to listen to her complaints every time we visit, but her coming to the Leaky and lecturing me on the duties of a Longbottom woman right in front of my patrons—on a Saturday afternoon no less!—is simply unacceptable!"

"Hannah," the male voice started pleadingly, "you must understand, Gran—"

"No, Neville, I don't understand! I don't want to understand! Do you really think that it's even remotely understandable?!"

Harry heard Neville sigh. "She is just worried about us, that's all. She has these old-fashioned views on propriety that are pointless to try to change. And she is getting older . You know her health is not as good as it could be. She just wants to see her grandchildren before..." Neville's voice trailed off.

"She just wants to see grandchildren. She just wants to see grandchildren!" Hannah's voice rose to a shriek. Some flowers with almost translucent petals in the huge pot Harry had retreated behind recoiled and closed up. "That is why you married me, right? The entire reason you, Neville Longbottom, married me is that your harpy of a grandmother wanted you to have your little heirs with a nice girl from a respectable family, and I was too dazzled by a dashing hero courting me to see the truth staring me in the face!"

"W-what are you talking about, Hannah?" Neville stammered. "I married you because I love you!"

"Love me? I rather think I lack some crucial body parts for you to love me!"

Harry knew he needed to get out of here, but couldn't help listening in with grim fascination anyway. Giving in, he took his Invisibility Cloak from his pocket and draped it over his shoulders.

"I d-don't understand what you are implying here…"

"Oh come on, Neville. Did you think I'd be blind forever?" Harry never heard Hannah Longbottom née Abbot, bubbly Hufflepuff and the ever-cheerful owner of the Leaky Cauldron, sound so bitter. "At first, when we started dating, I thought you were a perfect gentleman, never trying so much as to put your hand up my skirt. It was so refreshing after those gits Cormac and Zacharias. I didn't think anything of it when you suggested we wait until the wedding. To think of it, I was so smitten and naïve!"

"Hannah—"

"Do. Not. Interrupt me, Neville!"

There was a whimper.

"So we got married. But things didn't get much better in the bedroom department, did they? I thought it was me, of course. But the harder I tried, the more time you spent with your precious plants. I went through every Witch Weekly's advice, you know. Sexy robes and lingerie, make-up, practically starving myself to lose those twenty pounds… All it did was make you retreat to your blasted greenhouse even faster! The blowjobs worked, I suppose. Because you could close your eyes and imagine someone else!"

"Hannah, there's never been anybody but you," Neville protested.

"Oh, I believe you. You've always been too honest and wholesome for that, at least. So there were just you and your stash of Wands and Wizards in your office."

Harry's smirk was rather gloating when Neville gasped.

"Yes, I snooped, and I'm not even sorry. It explained so much. Still, I wanted to try, I wanted to make us work. I was ready to start taking the fertility potions Augusta wanted me to. But then you took this job at Hogwarts and I realised." Hannah paused, taking a deep breath. "Nothing! Nothing I did would ever make a difference. So I went to Aunt Bathsheda, took a loan and bought the Leaky from Tom. By the way, tell your Grandmother to stop implying to everybody that I bought it with your Longbottom inheritance. I didn't take a knut of your money!"

"I told her that many times… And you are free to use it anyway!"

"I can make my own galleons now, thank you very much. Do you know what a satisfying feeling it is? To earn your own money by doing what you are good at? I guess you do, but the thing is, I didn't. I had that part-time job as a waitress in the Three B's for a bit when we were dating, of course, but then your Grandmother decided it was _undignified_." Hannah's voice rose higher and screechier, mocking Augusta Longbottom's pronunciation. "So I was sitting at home obsessing over why my husband is constantly hiding from me in the greenhouses and trying to please his relatives. Never again, Neville, do you hear me?"

Neville didn't say anything. Harry imagined him right now, eyes wide, opening and closing his mouth like a fish washed astrand. Or maybe he was standing there all guilty and sad, like that day when he—

"And you know what?" Hannah continued. "I'm happier right now than I've ever been before. I was so scared starting in, so sure I could never do it. Augusta certainly didn't help with her jibes, and you still seem to think it's a passing fancy I'll grow out of in a few years to start popping you children dutifully, as do Mum and Dad. Susan supported all my ideas for the pub, of course, but it's Susan. She's been unfailingly supportive ever since we were seven and Zacharias Smith ruined my birthday cake."

She paused for a moment, but there was no interruption.

"There was a moment when I was seriously going to give up and quit," she said at last. "Do you know who helped me to get through it all? Parkinson of all people!"

"Pansy Parkinson?" Neville asked in a shocked voice.

Harry was surprised as well. Pansy was quick to share gossip, but she had never told him that particular story.

"Yes, the one and only. She was at my seventh birthday party as well, you know. She said I shouldn't share my cake with all those people I don't give a fuck about and who don't give a fuck about me, the real me as a person. At best, they would eat all of my cake and leave when nothing's left. Or they would just stand around and laugh up their sleeve and gossip while someone else is ruining it."

That sounded like Pansy alright, especially a Pansy after a couple of the _Inferi Revivers_ that Hannah served at the Leaky now.

"She told me some other interesting things as well, you know. She works with Harry Potter now. Yes, I see you remember the guy. Unsurprising, as she said you knew him rather… intimately. Broke up with him right before HIS birthday party, to start courting me, apparently."

Harry was going to _murder_ that traitorous bitch. Slowly, and with Draco Malfoy cheering in the audience.

There was a thud and a gasp, followed by incredulous laughter.

"So it's true! I was so sure she's just taking the piss. I've seen you glance longingly at all those photos of Potter in the Prophet before, sure. But I thought you're just envious that he had the guts to be out and proud while you yourself were wanking in your greenhouse, always scared of what your Grandmother would say."

"I—" Neville started to say after a moment of heavy silence.

"Tell you what, husband dear," Hannah interrupted. "Do whatever you want. You can continue digging in your dirt, or you can go suck some cock. I don't care anymore. But you will keep your Grandmother out of my hair, and certainly out of my pub. Understood?"

"Yes, Hannah. I'll talk to her tonight, I promise."

"Good."

With that, Hannah Longbottom strode out of the office and out of the greenhouses, not once looking back. After a moment, Harry followed.


	9. Hidden Depths

Harry woke up the next morning in a surprisingly good mood. He was still going to give Pansy a hard time for running her big mouth, but the conversation he had overheard yesterday seemed to finally bring some kind of closure he hadn't realised he needed. He felt slightly guilty about the schadenfreude he experienced listening to Hannah tearing Neville a new one, but it was overall an immensely cathartic experience.

Harry had got over his feelings for Neville a long time ago and had no desire to follow Pansy's example and turn Hannah into some kind of domestic animal every time he set his foot into the Leaky Cauldron. Yet hearing her talk about blaming herself and then realising it's not her fault in a strange way reassured Harry in his own choices. He felt that after all these years, he could finally let go of that lingering hurt that still constricted his chest and made him question himself every time he saw Neville. That page of his life was closed for good.

The staff table was once again mostly empty, as Harry now suspected was usual for a Monday, but he was delighted to see the Astronomy Professor there.

"Aurora! How's Persy, still exploring?" Harry asked, remembering his encounter with her son. It made him miss his godson Teddy, whom he usually visited at least once a week, even more.

"Like you cannot believe!" Aurora laughed. "Luckily, my husband is finally home from training camp, so it's easier to keep an eye on the little scamp for now. Nearly got to one of John's brooms yesterday. He's still sulking that we didn't let him go on a search for a yeti."

Harry laughed. Teddy was also fascinated with all kinds of magical creatures. Since he had heard that his friend Victoire's uncle worked in the dragon sanctuary, he'd been pestering Harry and Andromeda to take him there.

Aurora downed the last of her coffee and rose reluctantly. "I really need to go talk to my Slytherins right now, before the first lessons start, but please come visit us at the Tower! My quarters are almost at the top, behind the portrait of Ptolemy."

"I'll be glad to."

Just as Aurora was leaving the table, Neville appeared and sat down on the other side of Harry. Glancing at his drawn face, Harry waited for the usual bitterness to appear. It seemed his morning's revelations were no fluke; he felt nothing.

"Hello," Neville said, bringing Harry out of his thoughts. "I'm Neville Longbottom, Herbology Professor."

"Polyidus Thompson, but you can call me Paul." Harry smiled, and it wasn't even strained.

"So, how do you find Hogwarts so far?"

"Oh, very exciting. Since I've come here, my Third Eye is on overload. And certain parts of the castle are simply a gold mine for—Anyway, if only the students wouldn't get underfoot!"

"Those pesky students." Neville chuckled. "I would often lose track of time in one of my greenhouses only to realise regretfully that I've got a lesson in five minutes!"

"Actually, you reminded me. I wanted to ask you something, Neville."

"Oh? What is it?" Neville leaned forward.

Harry held back incredulous laughter. Wouldn't it be hysterical if Neville decided to follow his wife's advice with him?

"I've met one of my students—a sixth-year Gryffindor, Mr. Talbott—near your greenhouses this Saturday evening. He had a shovel in his hand and looked really put out to meet me, although he said that you know about him there."

"Right, Cal." Neville smiled. "Didn't know he took Divination. Yes, he comes to help out in the greenhouses from time to time. Replanting Venomous Tentacula seedlings that day. Although I understand why you would think he's up to some mischief. He's got, shall I say... a reputation."

"He's a cocky little shite, you mean."

"You said it. But he is a good kid, and he likes plants. I suspect he's a little embarrassed about that, though; hence the sneaking. Tries to look all macho for the girls, you see. Hope he'll grow out of it. He's got some real talent."

"Yeah, some boys his age don't understand that Herbology doesn't make you any less manly." And not only boys, and not only his age. Harry knew that it was a point Augusta Longbottom brought up regularly.

"And Divination either." Neville gave him another earnest smile.

"And Divination either." Harry felt it was high time to wind down the conversation. He glanced at the clock. "Look at the time! I need to be in my classroom in fifteen minutes. I still can't get there without getting lost half of the time!" He stood up and offered his hand. "It was nice to meet you, Neville."

"You too, Paul. Come visit the greenhouses at any time." Neville's hand lingered just this side of proper.

Harry fled.

* * *

The lessons went much more smoothly this second week, although Harry doubted he managed to impart much Divination knowledge to the students. Instead, he sat everybody in a circle with their cups of tea. They spent the class first drinking it leisurely with biscuits the house-elves were happy to provide, and then analyzing the shapes in the tea leaves. Harry didn't want to dominate the conversation and let the students come up with their own ideas, no matter how wild.

"This looks a bit like an owl," said a third-year Slytherin girl, frowning into her cup. "But if I turn it... If I turn the cup like that, it looks more like an angry wizard in a robe. What do you think it means, Professor Thompson?"

"What do _you_ think, Miss Pierce?" Harry asked.

"Erm... My owl is secretly an animagus?"

The students snickered.

"Actually, this happened to a friend of mine once, so I wouldn't discard the possibility completely. Does anyone have other suggestions?"

Interpreting images in tea leaves reminded Harry of Muggle therapy sessions Hermione made him go to after the war. The first time he went there, his therapist gave him those cards with inkblots and asked what he saw. Harry stopped going eventually because there were just too many issues he couldn't discuss without mentioning magic, but trying to find a Mind Healer in the Wizarding world resulted in the appointment leaking to the _Prophet_ even before the first session.

After his last class had finally left, Harry decided to take Aurora up on her invitation and made his way to the Astronomy Tower. When he arrived, she already had another guest.

"Come in, come in." Aurora ushered Harry inside. "It seems that I'm really popular today."

To Harry's surprise, he found Snape sitting in the living room with a toddler on his lap. The girl was laughing and babbling animatedly, little hands clutching a purple squid toy. Two pink spots bloomed on Snape's cheeks.

"Oh, don't be embarrassed, Severus." Aurora laughed, scooping the girl into her arms. She turned to Harry. "Despite his numerous protests, our Severus does have a heart."

"I have no doubt in it." Harry sent Snape a good-natured grin.

He looked around curiously. The living room was bigger than his or Snape's and cluttered to the brim with toys, baby things, books and parchments. A delicate model of the solar system was squeezed on the shelf between a tin of broom polish and the already familiar dragon plushy. The ceiling had a lifelike painting of the Milky Way shining softly.

"Would you like a cup of tea? I've just made some."

"I've probably drunk a gallon of that stuff today with all my classes." Harry let out a put-upon sigh belied by a smile.

"Coffee, then. House-elves here in Hogwarts just cannot make it right, so here is my grandmother's special blend. And you are going to love these scones!"

"Look, mum, look!" Aurora's son burst into the room, followed by a tall man with broad shoulders and an affable smile. "We flew over Hagrid's hut and the lake, and then played in the snow! Daddy says I can fly on my own in the spring already! Oh, hullo Uncle Sev'rus!"

The boy noticed Harry and hid behind his father shyly.

"We'll see about that, Persy," Aurora said, drying the water dripping from the boy's cloak and helping to take it off. "Say hello to Professor Thompson and go start on your homework as you've promised."

"Hello," Persy mumbled and scooted to one of the doors.

Aurora introduced Harry to her husband, John Whitsby, coach of Wimbourne Wasps. Harry drew himself up at the name of the team.

"As a Muggleborn, I've always found Divination too out there, even by magical world standards. Trelawney certainly didn't help, and her predecessor in my time wasn't much better," John said with a chuckle. "I didn't take Divination myself, but there was one year when Sprout went on sabbatical, and old Lenormand was temporarily our Head of House. Completely bonkers, he was. Probably those mushrooms he used to burn."

"Didn't he set the Hufflepuff common room on fire with them that year?" Snape interjected.

"He did!" John laughed. "All the Hufflepuffs had hallucinations for a week afterwards, especially the younger years. I hope you don't follow his footsteps, Paul." He wagged his finger at Harry jokingly.

"No mushrooms for me!" Harry put up his hands in surrender.

A steamy cup of coffee flew over to him, obeying the wave of Aurora's wand. Harry took it out of the air and sipped the fragrant drink. It was really excellent, especially compared to the instant swill they used to drink with Pansy.

John finished his own tea and looked challengingly at Harry. "How about a little demonstration?"

"Oh, Paul, don't let John bother you!" Aurora exclaimed. "I understand you get that a lot of that, but you absolutely don't have to."

Snape looked up at Harry expectantly with a hint of mockery in his dark eyes.

"Even though reading tea leaves is not my primary area of expertise, it would be my pleasure." With a deep breath, he took the proffered cup and peered into it. "I see… I see a thief." From the corner of his eyes, Harry noticed John's eyes widening. "Something work-related. Somebody is stealing your Quidditch equipment?"

John grew serious. "Yes, somebody's been stealing players' uniforms. A Beater's bat and two Quaffles are still missing too. At first, we'd thought it was some crazy fan. But we've tightened security, and it still keeps happening," he said, his voice growing more and more agitated. "Somebody has stolen a Snitch today! You know that nobody is allowed to touch it before the game."

Harry nodded.

"We are in the lead for the first time in five years, and against the Arrows no less! I don't want to lose that over accusations of tampering!"

Snape shifted his gaze from John and met Harry's eyes for a moment. Harry gave him a minuscule nod and peered into the cup again.

"I see greed in this thief of yours. He might be more dangerous than you think, so be careful."

"I can help you with ward if you'd like, John," Snape offered. Harry looked at him, surprised. He didn't remember Snape to be so obliging. He was starting to realise there were much more to his former Potions Professor than he'd known.

"I think our family has monopolized enough of your time, Severus," said Aurora. "It's so unfair that the Board won't put you back as Head of Slytherin officially. Minerva should've pushed harder."

"It's a moot point," Snape said with a blank expression on his face.

"It's certainly not! After everything you've done for us, you deserve better!"

"Aurora is right, Severus." John nodded in agreement.

Harry looked at them curiously.

"Severus saved my life," John explained.

"I did not," Snape said in a clipped voice. He took a scone off the plate but made no motion to eat it. Harry tried not to stare at his long fingers stained with potion ingredients.

"He did," Aurora interjected. "You see, Johnny is my second husband. We met that horrible year of You-Know-Who's reign. I'd known who John Whitsby was before, of course. Who didn't? The most famous Appleby Arrow's beater—"

"I don't know about the most famous, but famously Muggleborn, that's for sure," John interjected. "Everybody knew _that_ about me, so pretending to be someone's cousin wasn't an option. An old teammate of mine had ratted me out, so I was on the run from the Snatchers." His face darkened.

Reaching out, Aurora squeezed his hand.

"I ran into Aurora, quite literally. She simply shrunk me and put me in her pocket; can you believe it? Then lied to the Snatchers—boldly to their faces. Never play poker with that witch." John shook his head with a smile. "She then brought me to Hogwarts, and I hid right here, in the Astronomy Tower."

"I first suspected you knew when you didn't let the Carrows inspect my quarters, Severus," Aurora said quietly. "And then I fell pregnant with Perseus and you got me all those potions and fended off those awful twins from me. Let them think it's your child so they wouldn't question how I ended up pregnant in the castle I shouldn't have been able to leave, even though the faculty became even more horrible to you after that. You are a noble man, Severus."

"Hardly," Snape said, though his cheeks were faintly pink again. The scone in is his hands was half-crumbs at this point. He flushed further and put it down. "You exaggerate my part, Aurora."

"She does not. I'll be honest, mate, if I didn't know you're beating firmly for the other team, I'd be jealous."

Harry drew a sharp breath. Could it be true? But what about his Mum?

"What, Thompson? Would it be a problem?" Snape looked Harry straight in the eyes challengingly.

"No, not at all. After all, it would be hypocritical of me," Harry sent him a small smile.

Aurora beamed and winked at Harry. He got a sudden suspicion of why exactly she had invited him today of all days. Judging by Snape's sour face, the man had similar thoughts.

All in all, Harry had an altogether pleasant evening and didn't begrudge Aurora her attempts at matchmaking too much. His mind was on Severus, who stayed behind to discuss some House matters with Aurora. Harry caught himself thinking about him by his first name. When did that happen? Probably during John's story. He was still reeling at that. How could everyone still treat Severus like shit while praising scumbags like Richardson at the same time?

Harry blushed at the thoughts of this softer side of Severus, him spending time with his friends and playing with a toddler on his lap. This wasn't something Harry imagined Severus ever doing before. He sure would never show this part of his life to Harry if he knew his true identity.

This sobered Harry immediately. Despite his awkward flirting, he didn't want to mislead Severus and try to start anything as Polyidus Thompson. Yet there was no chance in hell Severus would ever look that way at Harry Potter.

With a sigh, Harry looked around. While he was deep in thoughts, his feet brought him to the seventh floor. He stared at the familiar tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Neville, who had returned to repeat his seventh year, once told him that the Fiendfyre had raged inside the Room of Requirement even a year after the Battle of Hogwarts.

What was there now? Harry stood across the tapestry for a moment, contemplating. He needed to know, needed to see with his own eyes again. Nodding to himself, he made a decision and started pacing.

On his third turn, a door appeared. Harry put his left hand on the handle carefully, while gripping his wand tightly in his right.

Inside, the room was much smaller than it used to be, less than a third of the size of his classroom. The walls were covered with scorch marks, and there were piles of ashes on the floor. A handful of things seemed to survive the flames: some half-melted coins, a blade of a dagger, a rose in a glass dome covered in soot, but otherwise undamaged. But the most curious thing was standing by the wall near the door. It was a student trunk, one that looked somehow familiar.

Harry cast a couple of detection spells and opened the trunk. Inside, there was a mess of clothes and books and quills thrown together haphazardly. Harry took a battered Advanced Transfiguration. ' _Property of Alexander Rowle,'_ it said on the front page.


	10. Interlude

Harry was pacing around his room in agitation. He had already rummaged through Rowle's trunk twice, but there was no indication as to how it got to the Room of Requirement or clues to the boy's whereabouts. He didn't want to consider the worst, but the case was taking increasingly nasty turns.

Not knowing what to do, Harry tried to contact Pansy to bounce some ideas off her, but she wasn't picking up her mirror so far. He cast _Tempus_ absentmindedly. Half-past nine already. He still hadn't decided if he should call Severus and how he would explain his discovery if he did. Polyidus Thompson couldn't have known about the Room of Requirement, and Harry found himself reluctant to outright lie to Severus if he could help it.

Coming to a decision, Harry threw a pinch of floo powder into the fireplace.

"Paul?" Fortunately, Severus was in his office, cataloguing ingredients. He looked at Harry questioningly from the piece of parchment in his hand.

"Could you please come over to my quarters if you have a spare moment, Severus? There is something you might want to see."

Probably sensing the urgency in Harry's voice, Severus nodded. "I'll be in a minute."

Harry put his head out of the fireplace, and Severus stepped through the green flames almost right away.

Harry motioned to the open trunk. He saw the exact moment when the understanding dawned and Severus swallowed back a snide comment he had obviously had on the tip of his tongue.

"Is that—"

"Alexander Rowle's trunk, yes."

"Where did you find it?"

"The Room of Requirement," Harry said after a pause.

Severus regarded him with an unreadable expression on his face. "For a homeschooled wizard, you are acquainted with the halls of Hogwarts remarkably well, Polyidus Thompson."

Harry bit his lip and looked down at the floor.

"I see," Severus said finally, his words laced with irony. "I guess I shouldn't ask you any questions if I don't want to hear any lies, right?"

"I'll tell you everything later, I promise," Harry said, hand reaching to the bridge of his nose to straighten the glasses that weren't there. "What matters now is how this trunk got there, who brought it and what they did with Rowle."

To Harry's relief, Severus didn't press the issue. Instead, he opened the lid and started inspecting every item carefully. He checked the pockets of every robe and was now leafing through Rowle's Potions notes. Harry had already looked through the trunk but decided against saying anything. He suspected Severus would insist on doing it himself anyway.

Severus extracted a sock from between the parchments with a disgusted expression.

"Someone has already been through all of this," Harry said defensively. "It's not me who created this mess in the first place."

"You never know what somebody might miss in a hurry."

"True enough."

"It's time to have a good chat with that Talbott brat and his goons," Severus snarled after fishing out an almost empty jar of bruise paste. "They've gotten away with their despicable bullying for far too long, and I can bet a gallon of Felix Felicis that they are involved in this somehow."

"No, please don't say anything for now!" Forestalling Severus's furious protests, Harry hastily added, "I have Talbott's class tomorrow, and I will talk to him myself. We need to tread carefully here."

"Carefully," Severus scoffed. " _Carefully_ would never work on the likes of him. Strutting like they own the place, ganging up on other students, and then turning away and laughing about it to the delight of their sycophants. I know the type well. They would just escalate their hilarious _pranks_ until they are outright murder attempts. This behaviour must be nipped in the bud. Unless the perpetrators are Gryffindors, of course. In that case, no matter what they do, the staff just wag their fingers complacently and praise the students in question on a job well done." The words dripped with bitter sarcasm.

Harry fidgeted uneasily, longing to offer comfort and maybe an apology, because it obviously was not just about Talbott anymore. The Marauders, despite being dead for many years, still haunted Severus. Or maybe he was thinking about Harry himself, slashing Malfoy with _Sectumsempra_ in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Yet Harry realised that anything he could say would be unwelcome, let alone extremely difficult to explain.

"Bullying should not be tolerated," he said with conviction instead.

Severus just threw him a contemptuous glance and busied himself with the content of the trunk again.

"We do need to be careful with Talbott, though. If he is somehow involved, there's a high possibility that Richardson is too. We don't want to tip that one off early," Harry added, trying to sound reasonable.

That reminded him that he hadn't checked on the Defence Professor since morning. He took out his surveillance ball and peered into it. The office was in even more disarray than usual, and its owner was pacing in agitation.

"Is it really the time for that?" Severus asked incredulously.

"Richardson is nervous about something."

"And you know this because your crystal ball told you so."

"Just come look at this." Harry cancelled the silencing spell on the ball.

"I'm sorry to disappoint, but Divination is not my best subject," Severus said but came over to the sofa where Harry was sitting anyway and looked over his shoulder.

In the ball, Richardson opened the window with an impatient wave of his wand and let a tawny owl in. He untied the parchment from its leg and studied it for a minute, face thunderous. Grabbing an inkwell from the desk, he hurled it at the owl who dodged and left with an indignant hoot. A string of colourful obscenities later, the note was turned to ashes with a snarled _Incendio_. As soon as the last flames died down, Richardson marched out of the office.

"Is it happening right now?" Severus's breath ghosted over Harry's ear, making him shiver.

"Yeah."

"I sincerely hope Trelawney does not have one of these."

Harry grinned. "Nope, this is one of a kind."

"Can you see other parts of the castle through this?"

"Only Richardson's office."

"A spell or some kind of transmitter?" Severus demanded.

Harry decided to spare him a sleepless night going through everything in his office and a living room—Severus was definitely paranoid enough for that—and fished a snow globe out of his pocket.

"Fascinating." Severus's long nose almost touched the glass. "Big Brother is watching you."

"Huh?"

He made a face, probably at Harry's lack of culture. "It's from a book. About a dystopian future."

"Had enough of dystopia in my past, thank you very much."

Severus was still sitting close, his collar undone, revealing a jagged scar across his neck. Harry wanted to know how it would feel under his fingers, his lips. The proximity was setting every nerve in his body on edge. Realising he was staring, he tried to distract himself by rewinding the image in the ball.

The only visitor in Richardson's office that afternoon was the Head Girl coming to give him a new password to the Gryffindor common room. Richardson positively leered at her during the short interaction, and Harry wanted to throttle him even more.

"What a sleazeball."

"Indeed."

Severus stood up abruptly and returned to the trunk, even though he must have been already finished with it by now. Harry felt his absence by his side keenly. He stood up himself and strode to the shelves behind the sofa. Most of them were still largely empty as he hadn't bothered to unpack half of his things.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked. "I've got wine if you'd like some."

He produced a bottle of elf-made wine Narcissa Malfoy gave him that Christmas, as she did every year. The first time, Harry was really surprised. But apparently, as Andromeda explained, saving a pureblood from Azkaban put you on their Christmas list, and it would be rude to refuse. He usually let Pansy choose something appropriate in return, thanking heaven he didn't have to exchange presents with Draco.

Nodding absentmindedly, Severus dug into Rowle's clothes. Harry conjured some glasses and poured the wine. Severus looked at the bottle strangely.

"It's good stuff," Harry said defensively.

Severus took a sip. "It's exquisite. I'm surprised you wouldn't wait for some special occasion to open it."

"I don't have a clue about wine anyway, to Pa—my wine enthusiast friend's dismay. More of a beer or a Firewhiskey type of person, myself." Harry shrugged. "This bottle was a gift."

"So this friend of yours—" Severus started and then trailed off.

"Just a friend, nothing more. A girl," Harry said hastily and blushed, taking a big gulp from his own glass. The wine was too sour for his taste.

"It's not any of my business," Severus harrumphed, but Harry liked to think that he heard a pleased note in his voice.

Harry regretfully turned the conversation back on track. "If nothing pans out with Talbott, we can present our case to McGonagall," he said dubiously, remembering the times he appealed to his then Head of House. Her heart was in the right place, but she brushed him off both times, with the Philosopher Stone as well as with Umbridge. "Without mentioning the surveillance, of course. She seems fair if a bit passive. She won't listen to me, but she must listen to you."

Severus snorted. "I very much doubt it. The only outcome of Minerva's involvement would be the whole staffroom learning about our suspicions, Richardson included." His expression turned ponderous. "Which we can use to our advantage, actually."

"How?" Harry perked up.

"With a little help of your... Divination tools. We may involve Minerva, or I can simply voice some vague suspicions, during dinner or in the staffroom if our brave Auror deigns it with his presence. Or perhaps you can pretend to tell his fortune as you did today. Nothing concrete, but enough to make Richardson go check on the trunk if he indeed is the culprit. Will your globe work in the Room of Requirement?"

"The Room's magic will probably interfere. We can install it across the entrance, though. In fact, whatever we decide, I think I should do it first thing tomorrow morning anyway."

"Yes, the sooner the better."

"Let's do it right now," Harry proposed excitedly.

The wine must have been stronger than he thought, or maybe he shouldn't have skipped dinner that day, but sneaking side by side with Severus around Hogwarts at night suddenly seemed the most exciting thing he had done in years. Harry had an overwhelming urge to dissolve into giggles. He refrained, of course, although if Severus's glare was any indication, he wasn't altogether successful in making his expression any less stupid. Especially when they were walking in otherwise companionable silence, brushing hands now and then. Oh well, Occlumency was never his strongest suit.

Harry put the snow globe inside a visor of a suit of armour so it would have the best overview of the corridor and the wall where the door of the Room of Requirement usually appeared.

"All done," he whispered, trying to come up with an excuse to have Severus back in his quarters.

"I still have to prepare for tomorrow's lessons," Severus said, interrupting his thoughts.

"Oh," Harry said disappointedly. He reached into his pocket and took out a spare mirror he'd prepared earlier.

"What's that?"

"It's a communication mirror. Just open it and call my name if you need to contact me quickly." Harry reached for his own mirror, before realising it was still a powder compact box. Cheeks aflame, he looked at Severus defiantly, daring him to say anything.

Severus took the mirror. "You are certainly full of surprises, Paul."

That night, Harry went to bed well after midnight and lied awake for hours, full of nervous energy. He finally fell asleep at the crack of dawn, only to have Richardson invade his dreams. The man sprung out of a trunk like a jack-in-a-box, a Beater's bat in his hands, while Severus's voice, low and seductive, whispered something important in Harry's ear. When he woke up a couple of hours later, his heart was pounding, but he for the life of him couldn't remember what was said.


	11. Gifts and Curses

"We will continue with scrying today," Harry announced to his N.E.W.T class at the beginning of the lesson. The Gryffindor trio looked at him suspiciously. "However, we'll do something a bit different this time. We'll try to locate someone using a map and a pendant." He produced a map of Britain and spread it over the table he had just enlarged. Then he took out a scrying pendant from Trelawney's drawers. "Usually you put a small item that belongs to a person you want to find here. For better results, you must use something dear to this person, and not just their quill or a hairclip."

As far as Harry knew, scrying was the only Divination technique that non-Seers could use with some measure of success. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't on Trelawney's curriculum. To be fair, though, he might have slept right through it. Of course, for it to work with any degree of precision, you had to use a lock of hair, fingernails, or preferably blood. Even then wards, high concentration of foreign magic in general or not casting any spells could conceal the person completely. Harry used it a couple of time out of desperation when every other avenue was exhausted, but scrying had so many limitations that it was more often than not completely useless.

"Hogwarts is heavily warded, so it's unlikely you'll be able to track anybody here, as well as in Diagon or Hogsmeade. But maybe any of you have something of another person who is not in Hogwarts right now? Your parents, perhaps?"

Aradhya Roy, the Hufflepuff girl who managed to see something in the crystal ball last time with the help of Occlumency, wore earrings that used to belong to her mother. Harry hooked them over the pendant and handed it to the girl.

"Put it over the map like that. Relax your hand and remember the exercise we did last time. Only now, after clearing your mind, focus on your mum."

Aradhya scrunched her face in concentration. The pendant was still at the moment before jolting and moving North-West. The girl followed with a look of surprise on her face.

"We live in Manchester!"

"Well done, Miss Roy," said Harry. Maybe she did have some talent for Divination after all.

She beamed at him. "This is brilliant!"

Harry turned to the Gryffindors next. "Mr. Talbott."

"I don't have anything borrowed on me."

"Then you'll be glad to hear that I have something for you." Harry produced a Muggle wristwatch with a broken strap he had found from Rowle's trunk yesterday. "Although none of you came to me with any results of your homework, we won't give up on trying to locate your missing yearmate."

Talbott, who had lifted his hand to take the watch, jerked it back as if scalded. "Is it Rowle's?"

"Yes, the watch belongs to Mr. Rowle."

All colour drained from his face, but after a moment of hesitation, took the watch from Harry. When his fingers touched the metal, Talbott inhaled sharply. Quickly composing himself, he put the watch around the pendant and gave Harry his usual cocky grin, if a little wobbly on the edges.

"I'm ready, Professor."

The pendant remained still, not that Harry expected anything else.

To his surprise, Talbott lingered after the end of the lesson, perching on the paisley armrest of his chair. His friends had already left, sending him questioning glances. He had waved them off with an unconcerned air that disappeared as soon as they stepped out of the classroom.

"Mr. Talbott?" Harry had planned to keep him behind himself, but if the boy wished to talk on his own, all the better.

"Can I talk to you, Professor Thompson?" The boy had none of the usual attitude he displayed in class or in the Great Hall, and Harry was uncomfortably reminded of the scene with Richardson in the crystal ball.

"I've got a free period right now." Harry sat down at Talbott's table and gestured him to do the same.

"I came here on Saturday at first, actually," the boy said after a moment of silence. "But you were with Farley and Weasley."

"Oh?" Talking about constant vigilance indeed.

"Yeah. You are a good Defence teacher, if you don't mind me saying. It suits you better than Divination." Talbott sent Harry a cheeky grin, recovering some of his confidence.

Harry waited patiently. Sometimes it was better to just let them talk.

"I came just before you appeared from that bowl—a Pensieve? I heard what Farley said. And you keep dropping these hints... I just wanted to tell you that I had nothing to do with Rowle's disappearance. We've laid off him this year, actually."

He raised his eyebrow.

"It's true! Well, maybe not from the very beginning, but we are busy with our N.E.W.T's, you know, and—and maybe wetookittoofar," Talbott mumbled, hiding his eyes.

"Pardon?"

"We realized we'd taken it too far. We thought he was this Death Eater in training, but maybe we were wrong." He put his hand through his red hair.

"What made you change your mind?"

"Mike and I met him this summer. He worked in the Muggle world, delivering pizza of all things. At first, we thought it was some kind of revenge plot, showing up on Mike's doorstep like that. We even spied on him for a while. But he really worked there. And he was friendly with Muggles. Much friendlier than with anyone in Hogwarts except Farley, I'd say." Talbott kept his gaze down, plucking at the thread from the upholstery of his chair.

"What about that incident before your first Defence lesson in September?" Harry asked. "And Mr. Farley mentioned that Mr. Rowle would often return covered in bruises throughout the year."

Talbott's ears reddened. "That fight was the last major one. It's true! I even said sorry! And Snape was a beast for a month after that!"

" _Professor_ Snape." Oh, the irony.

"Anyway, that wasn't us." He finally looked up at Harry. "But I know he was getting in some trouble somewhere. I've met him once in October, looking all beaten up, barely conscious, some really weird bruises on his neck. That's when I apologized. Well, sort of. And a couple of times in November, he seemed to be totally out of it in Defence." At the mention of the subject, his face darkened.

"If you are suspecting somebody, even if it's a faculty member," Harry said carefully, "Please tell me about it. Your name doesn't have to leave this room if you don't want it to. But there is evidence to believe that Mr. Rowle didn't leave Hogwarts voluntarily. I don't want to scare you, but this may very well be a matter of life and death, Cal."

"He's not dead!" Talbott protested.

"How can you know that for sure?" Harry asked mildly.

"He's not dead. I know that. But I think something bad happened to him."

Hу waited.

"I'm like you, alright?" The boy blurted. "Well, maybe not exactly, but I can see things."

"See things?"

"When I touch someone or something that belongs to somebody, I would sometimes get flashes, glimpses of their past or future," Talbott rushed. "When I touched Rowle's watch today... I didn't see anything but I got this feeling. It was like—like I'm being suffocated, but not as if someone was choking me... Like I wanted to take a breath and couldn't. Just for a second, but I could feel it and I know it was him. I don't know if it was happening to him at that moment, or happened already, or will happen, or might happen. But I know he's alive."

Well, this explained a lot. Harry probably wouldn't believe Talbott if he hadn't seen him in Richardson's office, but the boy being a Seer might just be the only thing that made sense of that particular interaction.

"And I really saw that room in the crystal ball the other day. There were shelves with some books, a desk and spiral stairs," Talbott continued. "Though I don't know how accurate that was. For all my visions, the only time I managed to see anything in the ball before was back in our fourth year. I saw young Trelawney with Albus Dumbledore in a room in some inn or hotel or something."

Harry spluttered.

Talbott went bright red, misunderstanding his reaction.

"They were just talking! Though why would they be in a hotel room at all? Maybe that's why she has a drinking problem now?" he mused.

"I assure you, Albus Dumbledore was not in a relationship with Professor Trelawney at any point of her life," Harry said. He felt faintly sick.

That got him a dubious look.

Knowing how it felt when adults dismissed him, Harry added. "You probably saw her job interview." And didn't that sound way, way worse? "I mean I know for a fact Headmaster Dumbledore interviewed her in Hog Head because he didn't want to let strangers into the castle in the middle of the war." Well, it was the only rational reason Harry could come up with. With Dumbledore, however, you never knew.

"Trelawney delivered a real prophesy to him then, you know. I didn't hear it, but I could see that she did." Talbott let out a bitter laugh. "She is a complete fraud, but Grandmother always said she would deliver a real thing sometimes, very rarely, but then never actually remember doing it." Yes, Harry knew that better than anybody. "Lucky her."

"Lucky? Why?"

"I don't know how your Sight works, but I can't simply turn mine off. The visions appear when they appear, and I remember every second of them. My first kiss? I saw Alice Stephens going down the aisle to some guy who certainly wasn't me. On my third, I saw Arad—the girl I was kissing pining after Rowle across the library. That's when I decided to stop with snogging for a while." He made a face. "When I was seven, I saw at least four versions of my kneazle's gruesome death and had nightmares for years after that."

"Did it die?" Harry couldn't stop himself from asking.

"No, I took every precaution to stop them from happening."

"See? Your gift has already brought you some good."

"But then I saw my sister breaking her leg, tried to stop it, and you know what? My actions were exactly what lead her to break it!"

"Self-fulfilling prophecy," Harry said with a nod. He knew a thing or two about those.

"Right. I don't want this _gift_ ," Talbott spat. "Why can't my Gran have it instead? She is an editor of _The Third Eye_ , you know, and she is almost worse than Trelawney."

"Did she give you any advice?" Because Harry was certainly out of his depth here.

"She doesn't know. According to her, only women in our family have the Sight, so she doesn't even suspect anything. I don't want anyone to know. The only people who know are my sis and—" Talbott trailed off.

"And?" Harry prompted gently, already knowing the answer.

The boy set his jaw stubbornly, silent.

"It's someone from the faculty, right? Someone using your gift for their own benefit."

Sighing, Talbott nodded. "Professor Richardson," he said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. "He touched my hand when correcting my grip that first lesson this year, and I saw some guy sending the _Cruciatus_ curse at his back in Hogsmeade. I thought about it over and over, but there was no way to prevent it without revealing myself. He is—he used to be my favourite teacher, so I decided to tell him. I'm a Gryffindor and not a coward!" He looked Harry defiantly, as if daring to say anything to the contrary. "Apparently, it worked, and Richardson got that guy arrested before he could do anything."

Harry made a note to find the attacker.

"And then he asked me to touch the Wimbourne Wasps's seeker shoe," Talbott continued. "I did it and I did see him winning that first time. Richardson was real happy. I guess he bet on them and won some money. So now he keeps bringing me all this Quidditch stuff, but it doesn't work that way. I can't see anything on demand. But he doesn't listen. And he gets madder and madder every time."

"I promise you I'll deal with Richardson as soon as we find Mr. Rowle. But for now—"

"I understand. You suspect him, right? He used to be vicious to Rowle. I thought it was funny at the time, but not anymore." He pursed his lips. "I don't expect you to deal with my problem with Richardson. He's got a lot of friends in high places. I just wanted to help you find Rowle."

"Whatever friends he's got, his reputation isn't as clean as he'd like everybody here to believe. Nor is he the only one with connections, if I say so. What he does to you _is_ wrong, and he will not go unpunished for it. Actually, the next time he calls for you, I want you to warn me beforehand. Deal?"

Talbott grunted in consent, although he didn't seem convinced.

"You said you'd come to me on Sunday. What did you want to talk about then?"

"Er, I just—" Talbott fidgeted. "You know how Trelawney is a joke, right?"

Harry fought hard to restrain himself from nodding.

"And my Gran, she is—Well, she's not a drunk, for one, or crazy. Almost not crazy. But she is very much into all this Divination stuff, you know? Incense and shawls, speaking in riddles, and not going anywhere without her Tarot deck," Talbott said, taking to tugging the upholstery again. "Then there's Mr. Lenormand; he is Gran's friend and co-editor of her magazine. Ancient and completely bonkers. Dresses in lace and brocade and always smokes his pipe with some _special_ plants he grows in his garden. Aurors bust him for them every year. I think he used to teach Divination at Hogwarts before Trelawney. And when I first saw you, well, no offence, but I thought you were like them." Pink spots appeared on his cheeks. "You know, with these New Age robes and stuff."

"And stuff." Harry had an inkling where the conversation was going.

"But you are not!" the boy said hotly, punctuating his words with a wave of his head. "You don't do theatrics or roll your eyes dramatically, pretending to communicate with the spirit world. You are good at Defence and don't mention chakras outside the lessons. You are, well, normal and sane. And you even wore normal clothes both times I saw you return from outside of the castle. Of course," A sudden thought seemed to strike Talbott, and he looked at Harry calculatingly, "You might be only pretending to be a Seer to investigate Rowle's disappearance. Maybe if it had been Snape who went on rehab, you'd have stalked the dungeons in black robes and sneered at everybody over a cauldron."

Harry tried and almost failed not to laugh hysterically. He passed a hand over his face to get his thoughts together.

"I might not be best suited as a Divination instructor," He wasn't going to confirm anything, but he didn't want to lie to the boy who confided in him either. "But I know how it feels to want to be normal. For the longest time, it was my greatest ambition. I desperately wanted to just live a life of an ordinary wizard, but it was not to be because of the circumstances I didn't have any say at. People put their expectations on me, tried to harm me, use me. Some called me crazy, some called me an attention-seeking liar. I know firsthand how hard it is."

"How did you deal with it?" Talbott asked, leaning forward.

"There's no easy solution. As a wise man once said to me, we must choose between what's easy and what's right," said Harry. "Your gift doesn't mean that you have to become a stereotype of a crazy Seer. You don't have to surround yourself with crystal balls or ever read leaves in your teacup. But that doesn't mean that you have to build your identity around rejecting it either and hurt other people over your problems. This road will lead you nowhere. You are right about not telling just everybody and their crup about your Sight for now, but keeping it secret from all your friends and family will only hurt you in the end. Share your burden with someone you trust."

"What if my friends will make fun of me?" The boy asked in a small voice.

"Then they aren't really your friends."

"But—"

"Give them a chance. If you hide who you are from them, you wouldn't be able to trust them anyway, not fully, not where it matters. Have you even told them that you like Herbology?"

"I don't like Herbology!"

Harry raised his eyebrow.

"Well, maybe a bit. It helps me with my visions, you see."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Plants have enough inner magic so I can't see visions about their owner or something. But they don't have a Fate of their own either. I can touch them as much as I like and not be afraid to see into the past or future of a Mandrake or Devil's Snare. They are also kind of calming." Talbott shrugged.

Well, that explained another mystery. Maybe there was more to it, but Harry decided to believe the boy.

"You don't have to be embarrassed about that. Professor Longbottom is a war hero in addition to being a skilful Herbologist, and he has never been ashamed of liking plants." Unlike some other things. "And bullying is certainly not the answer to your insecurities. It was allowed to go on for way too long already," Harry added sternly.

"I know that," Talbott looked down again. "If—when you find Rowle, I wouldn't do that to him anymore."

"Not to him, not to anyone else."

He nodded solemnly. "I promise."

"Good."

"Can I touch you?" Talbott asked after a moment of hesitation. His blue eyes were shining with newfound intensity.

Harry considered this. The last thing he needed was another prophecy in his life, but it seemed to be really important to the boy for some reason. He offered his hand with a sigh. "Go on."

Talbott slowly touched it with his fingers, closing his hand around Harry's wrist before letting go of it as if it was on fire. His face went beet red.

"What is it?"

"Erm… It was… You were—" He opened and closed his mouth several times like a fish.

"Out with it, Cal. Whatever it is, I guarantee you I've had a worse prophecy made about me already."

"You were kissing Professor Snape!" Talbott blurted out. "Only you had green eyes for some reason."

Harry blushed as well. "Well, I hope this possible future development will stay between us."


	12. Transformation

Right after the lessons ended, Harry apparated to London, only stopping to pen Severus a letter. He hastily explained that Talbott was innocent, not that Severus would agree with that particular choice of words. Provisionally cleared of suspicion until further evidence that is sure to appear, that would be more to his liking. After some deliberation, Harry left him the surveillance ball as well.

Harry entered the office and stopped short. There were lips in the middle of his and Pansy's office. Giant red lips. After a moment of disbelieving silence, Harry realised that it was a red leather couch shaped like a mouth, disturbingly lifelike. He went around it twice and gently poked it. The… thing was quite real.

Suddenly Harry remembered the last conversation with Pansy when he told her about that Slughorn's ability. Surely—

"P-pansy?" he asked. "Is that you?"

The couch was silent. Harry felt very stupid talking to it. He tried _Finite Incantatem_ , but nothing happened.

"Erm... If you can hear me, can you just—" Harry paused. What could a couch _do_? "Creak? Squeak? No? Alright then." He stood in front of it in dismay, wand out.

"Potter? Why are to talking to that sofa?"

Harry spun around and came face to face with Pansy herself, looking at him like he had lost his marbles. He felt his ears burning.

"Well? Did those kids finally manage what the Dark Lord and _The Daily Prophet_ couldn't and make you crack?"

"I thought maybe you managed to transfigure yourself into that. You've got to admit, the colour if not the shape is definitely yours."

Pansy harrumphed. "What do you know about colours, Potter. When I manage the transformation, it certainly won't be a mouth-shaped leather sofa, of all things. And I'm glad you have so much faith in my abilities, but even I can't master it in just a few days. When I do it, you'll be the first to know." She flashed him a smug smile.

"Unless it's a nose-shaped table."

"I've seen one of those too back where this sofa came from, actually. But no. If you ever discover something like that about me, I'll be forced to kill you on the spot, you understand."

"Of course." Harry nodded sagely. "What is it, anyway?"

"Oh, this is where I found Mrs. Featherwright's diamond jewellery set, right inside the seat. It was in this weird museum in Catalonia, part of an installation making up a woman's face. The set was there for decades, with no one the wiser."

"What?"

"Yes, I know, the paintings there were even more surreal. Muggles are weird."

"Wait, did you just take it from the museum? And how are you going to get the jewellery out?"

"Already got it. Nothing a quick _Diffindo_ and _Reparo_ cannot do. And I left a perfect transfigured copy, so Muggles won't suspect a thing!" With that, Pansy flopped on the couch, putting her arms on the upper-lip back with a flourish. Even the sofa in the small parlour in the Grimmauld place didn't look quite so creepy. And that thing used to snap at him whenever he went past it and tried to eat him once.

"You will return the couch to the museum, right?"

"But I like it," she pouted. "Makes the place more alive."

"Pansy."

"Spoilsport," Pansy grumbled. "Why are you here, anyway? Don't you have classes to teach, the case to solve?"

"Actually, I've dropped by to see if Bill cracked the wards on the Rowle's box."

"I saw him working on it yesterday."

Stepping through to the _Weasley's Cursebreaking_ , Harry was assaulted with a multitude of sounds and colours. A leather-bound book was flinging itself against the bars of the cage, snapping its binding. A mechanical peacock wobbled around a large ritual table covered in runes in the middle of the room, screeching loudly. Emerald feathers in its magnificent metal tail looked disturbingly blade-like, and its engraved beak seemed knife-sharp. A wizard in a white wig and eye-watering canary-yellow robes regarded Harry haughtily from the full-length portrait placed against one of the bookshelves, before stalking back into the crimson sunset painted in broad brushstrokes. Harry could only wish to own up to his own recent fashion choices with such dignity.

A very pregnant Fleur was reading from an old scroll on the couch usually reserved for visitors, long legs on the armrest, more gorgeous than ever. The couch was for some reason heavily singed.

"Oh, it's you, 'Arry." She looked up and smiled slyly. "I'm pleased you've decided to branch out your wardrobe."

Harry looked down on himself and realised he'd forgotten to change from his poncho in his haste.

"By the way, don't touch the peacock."

Harry, with his wand surreptitiously trained at the damn bird from his hip and a silencing spell on his lips, straightened with an innocent face.

"Seriously, Potter, don't," Pansy said with a wince.

"Yes, Pansy would know." Fleur laughed melodically at Pansy's put-out expression. "Don't pout, _ma chérie_ , you were lucky to still have zat wooden leg of yours yesterday."

"A wooden leg?" Harry gaped, glancing down at Pansy's black trousers and expensive pumps.

Apparently, his previous concerns weren't so unfounded after all. Despite what she said, Pansy must have still practised transforming into furniture.

"It got better," Pansy said dryly. "And if you make any Moody jokes, I'll hex your balls sideways," she warned.

Harry, who opened his mouth to do just that, promptly shut it. Still, he had every intention to get all the details later for some much-needed blackmail material.

"You would absolutely deserve it for running your mouth about me to Hannah Abbot." Harry suddenly remembered that he was cross with her.

Pansy had the grace to blush. 'It needed to be said. Abbot was ready to give up, sell the pub and return under the thumb of her vulture of a grandmother-in-law like a good loyal Hufflepuff. Obedient and resigned to her duty. Hufflepuffs don't understand revenge," she sneered contemptuously. "But buckling up and working diligently in the face of hardships? That's their bread and butter. And nothing like a little righteous anger to put them back on track."

"Did you just compliment Hufflepuffs?" Harry asked in disbelief. That was definitely a first.

"Don't be silly," Pansy scoffed.

Fleur watched the interaction in bemusement. "Ever since I came to Hogwarts for the first time, I've been grateful that Beuxbatons doesn't have a House system."

The other door to the office opened, and Bill burst in. He was out of breath, and strands of red hair were falling out of his loose ponytail. In his hands, he had a huge ice cream cone and a paper bag from the Diagon bakery.

"Hello, Harry," he said, handing the ice cream to Fleur and the bag to Pansy. "Don't touch the peacock."

"I've been warned already."

"I haven't been able to open your box yet," Bill said apologetically. "The boy has some real talent."

Harry tried not to show his disappointment.

"But there is a cheat that might be helpful to you." Bill summoned the biscuit tin from his table and tapped it with his wand, muttering a lengthy incantation. Suddenly, the tin began to blur until it was almost completely transparent. Bill handed it to Harry.

There was a notebook or a journal of some sort inside, bursting with what seemed to be notes and photographs. Harry turned the box over upside down. There were a couple of pictures outside the notebook. The top photo, only one visible, showed a hand with webbing between the fingers. It looked too human to belong to any water creature, even to a mermaid. In fact, Harry was reminded of—

"You had something similar for the second task in our Tournament, non?" Fleur asked, looking over his shoulder.

That was it, but something else was nagging at the back of his mind. Before Harry could remember what, however, he felt his mirror vibrating in his pocket.

Harry opened the powder box, turning so that in case it was Severus, he wouldn't see anyone else in the room.

It was indeed Severus.

"Thompson! I can't fathom how you've come to the conclusions in that asinine note you've left, but Talbott is anything but innocent! In fact, that imbecile just sent Mr. Farley to the hospital wing and landed there himself!"

"What happened exactly?" Harry didn't expect Talbott to act up so soon after their conversation.

"They've had a spectacular fight outside your classroom, which judging by the background you're not in. None of them, including Miss Weasley who was also present, would say anything. As if the reasons weren't clear enough."

Harry swore. "Severus, please, don't do anything haste. I'll be right back."

Harry snapped his mirror shut and stood up hastily.

"Severus, is it?" Pansy asked knowingly.

Harry flipped her two fingers and apparated to the gates of Hogwarts, filing the strange photo for later.

* * *

The Hospital Wing was just as Harry remembered, all lancet windows and pristine white beds. The last time he had been there, it was missing half of the wall, obliterated during the Battle, with a transparent magical barrier hastily erected instead. All the beds had been occupied. Harry remembered Severus lying on one of them in a healing coma, pale and lifeless, thick bandages covering his neck. He seemed so much smaller on the hospital bed compared to the memory of the man towering over Harry in the Potions classroom or stalking the halls with his robes billowing around him. So much more vulnerable.

Trying to clear his mind, Harry shook his head and looked at the two beds that were currently in use. The one he still thought of as his own was occupied by a Gryffindor, that much at least was evident by the tie on the bedstand. The boy sported a head of a tiger and furry orange paws for hands. Edgar and Emma were sitting on the bed next to his, deep in hushed conversation. Edgar had his left cheek covered with a thick layer of greenish paste.

The tiger boy looked at Harry and opened his maw in an attempt to say something. What came out was something between a roar and a whine. The Slytherins noticed Harry as well and, to his surprise, looked questioningly at the Gryffindor, who nodded with a loud animalistic sigh.

"As Mr. Talbott here is obviously unable to speak, can any of you explain what happened here?" Harry asked sternly, channelling his inner Severus.

Emma looked at the direction of Mediwitch's office nervously.

"I met Madam Pomfrey on my way here. She was going to the Great Hall." Harry sighed in frustration, but took out his wand and cast _Muffliato_ anyway.

"Well, we came to see you in your classroom to ask a question about shields, only to find Talbott already waiting at the door," Emma started explaining. "Things quickly went downhill from there, with this prat acting extremely antagonistic and baiting Edgar about Alex." Harry glared at the Gryffindor at that, but the boy's head was pointedly turned away. "His insults soon turned completely ridiculous, and that stopped us from hexing him six ways to Friday, as he clearly expected us to. When it was clear that we aren't going to fight him—" She hesitated. From the look of the boys' uniforms, there definitely had been some fighting, but Harry decided to let it slide for now. "Well, he just asked us to use some visible and lasting spell on him." The way Emma looked at Talbott made it clear what she thought about his mental faculties.

"Was it—" Harry started, looking at Talbott questioningly.

The boy nodded and gave Harry a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket. Apparently, Richardson got some new stuff and expected Talbott in his office later this day. Damn.

The Slytherins shifted their gazes from Harry to Talbott curiously.

"What did you use?" Harry asked. "Madam Pomfrey was complaining that she hadn't seen such a stubborn case of botched Transfiguration before."

Emma's cheeks pinked slightly. "It's not Transfiguration. The owners of Weasley Wizard Wheezes are my... relatives, actually, and they've sent some of their new products for testing. No Skiving Snackboxes, though," she added hastily, making it clear that there _were_ Snackboxes involved. In any case, Harry thought it was great of George and Ron to reach out.

On the way to the dinner, Harry was intercepted by Severus, who was still utterly unconvinced of Talbott's innocence but agreed to make a move on Richardson immediately. He left Harry to go to the Great Hall first to avoid any suspicion.

The staff table was half-empty as usual, but to Harry's delight, Aurora was there today. On the opposite end, Madam Pomfrey was describing Talbott's situation to the Transfiguration Professor who was way more interested in all the technical details of his condition instead of actually trying to propose a solution. Professor Doge did suggest that it could very well be the result of something other than Transfiguration, but was very excited to see the boy and have a chance to examine him tomorrow.

"Priscilla is such a gifted researcher," Aurora noted in a low voice with a sigh after Doge had asked what House exactly Talbott was in. "I just wish she had a little more interest in her students. She is the only Ravenclaw professor here except for Filius and Bathsheda. Bathsheda Babbling, she teaches Ancient Runes," she clarified. "But she doesn't actually live in the castle and travels a lot during the school year. So when Filius retires, it's Priscilla who will be in charge of his eagles. Frankly, I think he would have already if there was another Ravenclaw on the staff."

Before Harry could answer, Richardson stomped to the table and set his chair back with a loud screech. A couple of students turned their heads to the noise before returning to their plates and conversations. Shortly after, Severus followed, making his way to his customary seat.

"Aurora. Paul." Severus nodded. Harry fought to hold back an inappropriately goofy smile.

A couple of minutes later, after Richardson finally settled down and stopped fuming, stabbing his steak as it had personally wronged him, Severus turned to the Astronomy Professor and asked in a low, but still clearly audible voice, "Say, Aurora, how is John? Did they find the perpetrator who was stealing the Wasps equipment?"

There was a loud clattering as Richardson's knife hit the plate too hard.

Aurora threw him a distracted glance before nodding her head sadly. "One of the team's Mediwizards was caught red-handed and now he claims that he was blackmailed."

"Blackmailed?"

"Yes, and John and I really want to believe him. Felix Pucey, you remember him? Always stayed out of trouble. Libra from Hufflepuff is his daughter." Harry remembered the seventh year from his NEWT class.

Conversation between Aurora and Severus then turned to the Slytherin House issues. Harry listened with half an ear, occasionally throwing glances at Richardson. The Defence Professor was sitting rigidly, glaring at his food. Apparently having lost his appetite, he finally stood up and strode out of the Great Hall.

When Richardson's back disappeared in the entryway, Harry glanced at Severus and received an infinitesimal nod. He apologised to Aurora, hoping he didn't sound too rushed. As the clock struck, Harry and Severus both stood up and winced simultaneously.

"I don't want to know, do I?" Aurora asked in bemusement.


	13. Confrontation

To Harry's relief, everybody was still at dinner and the halls were empty. On the ground floor, Severus motioned him to the secret passage behind the suit of armour across the Transfiguration classroom. It led to the seventh floor and ended in a hidden alcove a little further down from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Harry remembered the passage well, as it helped to coordinate the DA meetings immensely during his fifth year.

He cautiously peeked out from the alcove. The corridor was equally deserted, with Mrs. Norris II as their only witness. She gave them a disdainful glance before walking away with her tail held high. Turning to Severus, Harry suddenly became aware of how close they were standing. He could smell the herbal scent of some potion Severus had likely been brewing earlier today together with something subtle and masculine that was unique to Severus. Harry unconsciously licked his lips and caught Severus's dark eyes tracing the movement.

As he caught himself leaning forward unconsciously, there was the sound of steps from the corridor. Severus stiffened, his whole posture changing, and Harry turned away with regret. He cast non-verbal Disillusionment and silencing spells, aware that Severus beside him was doing the same. His magic washed over Harry, even more intoxicating than the scent.

Looking out again, Harry saw Richardson passing in front of the entrance to the Room of Requirement with a large parcel in his hands. Soon, the door appeared, and Richardson stared it for a moment before putting his hand on the handle.

Stalking Malfoy back in the sixth year taught Harry the hard way that he wouldn't be able to access the Room while it was occupied by someone who didn't want to be found. Which meant they had to move fast. As soon as Richardson opened the door, Harry cast a stunner and stepped inside quickly, holding the door open to make sure disillusioned Severus entered as well.

Visible again, Severus levitated the unconscious man, who now sported a big bruise on the cheek, and propped him against the wall with slightly more force than it was strictly necessary. Harry shot _Incarcerous_ , wincing slightly. He didn't like to attack people in the back, even when he knew those same people would not hesitate to do the same to him.

"I have some Veritaserum," Harry said, taking out his assortment of gel pens from his pocket and picking one that was seemingly empty.

"Of course you have." Severus snorted. "However, I'm the Potions Master here." He produced a small vial of clear liquid. "We don't need this buffoon poisoned or, worse, able to resist the serum."

"Oi! My Veritaserum is very good, I'll have you know. Got it from a very reliable brewer." Romilda Vane became one of the youngest Potion Masters in Britain, second only to Severus himself, and was perfectly happy to supply Harry even with restricted and not-quite-legal potions. Yet despite her talent and success, Romilda still gave Harry the creeps, if only because she tried to get some of his hair every time he visited her lab. Although her products were top-notch, he avoided going to her unless he absolutely needed to.

Severus looked at the pen doubtfully.

"Besides, if anything goes out of hand, I thought it would be better if I was the one in possession of... You know." Harry made a broad gesture. Severus certainly didn't need any more legal troubles.

"Let me be the judge of what risks I take," Severus said in a clipped tone, eyes narrowing dangerously. "And potions are certainly not the area I'm willing to compromise on. So put that… thing away, Paul."

Harry sighed but complied. He looked through the parcel that predictably contained the Wasps uniforms, while Severus was measuring three drops of Veritaserum into Richardson's slack mouth and casting _Ennervate_.

Richardson drifted back to consciousness, looking around with a dazed expression. As soon as he noticed Harry and Severus, it turned furious, and he began thrashing around, but the ropes held tight.

Severus conjures two chairs and sat down, wand trained on their captive.

"What is your name?" He asked.

"Alfred Gaius Richardson." The question was answered in a monotone, even though Richardson was glaring daggers.

"Date of birth?"

"6th of April, 1952."

"Why did you leave the DMLE?"

"I owed 6,000 galleons to Corban Yaxley. He was getting impatient, so I had to lay low."

"Why did you owe him?"

"I lost some bets at the underground duelling circuit run under his protection at the time."

So Dean had been right, not that there was any doubt. Glancing at Severus, Harry saw that he didn't seem to be surprised either.

"Where did you get those Wasps uniforms in your parcel?" Harry interjected.

"Felix Pucey got them for me."

"Why?"

"I have some dirt on him."

"Why did you need the uniforms?" Harry asked again.

"So the Talbott boy could tell me who's going to win and I'd bet on that team."

Severus looked at Richardson in confusion, but Harry shook his head before he could ask further questions.

"What do you know about Alexander Rowle's disappearance?" He asked instead.

"The boy had it coming. Good riddance, I'd say."

"How are you connected to Alexander Rowle's disappearance? Where is he?" Severus restated the question.

"I'm not. I made him a target in my class because students must have a natural order, to prepare them for the real world. Builds character," Richardson said with a gleam of smug superiority in his eyes, even though his voice was still flat and uninflected. "They need to have someone like Rowle to feel better about themselves, but also to keep them disciplined. Nobody wants to take his place on the bottom of the pecking order. Little snots mustn't forget that I'm the one ultimately in charge. Maybe that contributed to Rowle's decision to leave, spineless brat. I have no idea where he is now."

Harry looked at him, appalled. He'd thought the ex-Auror was a simple bully, spiteful but not very self-aware, but apparently, there was this whole disgusting philosophy behind his behaviour. However, despite Harry and Severus's expectations, he seemed to have nothing to do with the disappearance.

"Do you know who has or could have anything to do with it?" Harry tried again.

"No. I suppose Cal Talbott could, but I sincerely doubt that. He turned out to be a wimp just like Rowle. Doesn't have the balls for any serious business for all that he is a Gryff."

"Bugger," Harry said with a sigh. "I was so sure it's him."

"Still, it was not completely in vain." Severus accompanied that mysterious remark by an odd gesture with his left hand that was resting on his lap.

Before Harry could ask what he'd meant, he remembered something else. "Who is the man Talbott warned you about and why did he try to curse you?"

"Michael Corner. I turned in his Mudblood girlfriend to Rowle's father when we were in hiding during the war. I don't see what he has to be mad about. The bitch is apparently alive and well."

Harry shuddered. Beside him, Severus sat absolutely still, his face full of contempt.

"Did you do anything to Michael?"

"Nothing much. Had a couple of old friends detain him as a prime suspect in an illegal potions ring investigation. With those new laws Shacklebolt pushed through, they couldn't even shut him in Azkaban before trial. Probably out already."

"What are the names of those friends of yours?" Harry asked. He had a couple of candidates in mind.

Richardson opened his mouth before closing it forcefully and struggling against the ropes.

"Let me go, bastards! You'll pay for this!" he shouted, spit flying everywhere. "They'll finally shut you down for the vermin you are, Snape! You can forget about your cushy job here! And you, Cassandra? Who do you think you are?"

"Even if you don't have anything to do with missing Mr. Rowle, after all of your revelations today, it's your job prospects that are debatable," Severus said, his voice cool and flat.

Richardson barked a laugh. "And who would believe you?"

"Well, Minerva McGonagall, for example. The Headmistress is currently watching our… conversation in her office as we speak." Severus's long fingers caressed something small and invisible on his lap. Squinting, Harry recognized the shape of a disillusioned snowball.

"Pull the other one! That's impossible," Richardson spat despite the look of alarm on his face.

A silvery cat appeared in front of him, ears flattened as it opened its mouth. "I assure you, it's very much possible, Alfred," it hissed in McGonagall's voice before turning around. "Severus, Professor Thompson, please, bring this… individual to my office immediately."

Severus stood up and fired another stunner at Richardson.

"Can you erase the questions about Michael Corner from his memory?" Harry asked. Both he and Severus could protect themselves, but he didn't want any retribution against Talbott for speaking up. "You are better than me at Mind Magic." Damn, Polyidus Tompson shouldn't have known that. "From what I heard," he added hastily.

Severus gave him an indecipherable look and raised his wand.

" _Obliviate_."

* * *

Their meeting in the Headmistress's office lasted until long after midnight. In the end, Richardson was fired but otherwise didn't face any repercussions. However despicable his actions were, there wasn't much chance he could actually be charged with anything, a fact he was well aware of. The idea of scum like that walking free unearthed the feelings and thoughts Harry usually kept buried deep down and made his fingers itch for his wand to fire _Bombarda Maxima_ at the nearest wall. But loath as he was to admit it, trying to haul Richardson to the DMLE wouldn't do any good except create problems for Talbott, while Richardson himself would be out by the morning.

Harry insisted, however, that McGonagall make a public announcement to _The Daily Prophet_. The Headmistress's first impulse, probably ingrained by Dumbledore, was to cover everything up as "Hogwarts's internal business", but both Harry and Severus were having none of it. People needed to know about Richardson, since what he'd revealed earlier was obviously only the tip of the unsavoury iceberg. Who knew, maybe a condemning article would encourage other victims to speak up. Otherwise, it would be just a repeat of the Lockhart situation. It had been an eye-opener for Harry to learn, some years after the war, that most of the Wizarding World still believed in every word that fraud had written. As far as the general public knew, he had ended up in St. Mungo's doing one of his many courageous deeds.

McGonagall was also none too pleased by Harry's role at Hogwarts that he had no choice but to reveal. He was vague when asked if he was really a Seer, and carefully omitted any mention that his identity might not be entirely true either. He would come clean to McGonagall after finding Rowle, but for now, Harry decided to keep his cards close to the chest. He caught Severus sending him increasingly speculative glances, though.

And not only Severus. He was pretty sure Dumbledore, who was pretending to be asleep in his portrait throughout the whole conversation, winked at him once, and Phineas Nigellus Black was leaning onto his frame with a faintly amused expression, having obviously recognized Harry. His was the only portrait at Grimmauld Place that Harry hadn't moved to the attic.

On his way from the Headmistress's tower, Harry made sure to sneak to Richardson's office to get the snow globe. The place was in disarray, though thankfully _Complete History of Early Byzantine Curses_ was left intact. Richardson himself was heard from his quarters, stomping, muttering and shooting random hexes at the walls.

Severus was waiting for him outside.

"I wish we could do more to punish him," Harry said, brow furrowed. "And we're no closer to finding Rowle than we've been before."

"Still, the bastard is out of Hogwarts now, which I count as a victory."

"Didn't take you for an optimist."

"Merlin forbid. I'm just used to expecting the worst, and my expectations are usually met. But we got rid of Richardson, and soon everybody will see him for what I always knew he was. Even if they need a big article on the front page of the _Prophet_ to form an opinion. On the other hand, with Longbottom as the new Head of Gryffindor, I expect to start missing Richardson very soon."

Harry smiled despite himself.

"Go get some sleep, Severus. Unlike me, you must have classes first thing in the morning," he said. After a brief hesitation, he put his hand on Severus's arm.

Severus tensed but didn't protest. "I'm used to sleeping very little."

They stood like that for a moment, Severus searching Harry's face.

"Good night… Paul." With a curt nod, Severus left for the dungeons.

* * *

The next morning, McGonagall gathered all the teachers, House ghosts and Filch in the staffroom before breakfast to make a brief and highly edited recounting of the events of the night before. Reactions seemed to vary from disbelief to outrage. Professor Bell seemed torn between betrayal and disappointment she felt for Richardson and silent accusation of Harry and Severus for daring to smash her illusions. Babbling suggested that the old curse on the Defence position was acting up again. Hooch said she knew Richardson was bad business since she'd seen for herself how small his Beater bat actually was.

All throughout the meeting, Severus was sitting silently in his corner with a slight sneer on his lips. Harry wished he had sat next to him, but by the time he came, the staffroom had already been full. That meant he was sitting next to Priscilla Doge instead, who seemed to be completely disinterested in the subject. The only time she frowned slightly was when McGonagall announced that other Professors would have to take on Richardson's classes before she could find a substitute. The Headmistress made it sound like everybody would have to share them while giving Harry a long calculating look.

Hearing Doge complain that she didn't have time for that made something in Harry's brain click. Like a _Lumos_ flashing through his brain, he finally realised what the photo of a webbed hand in Rowle's box reminded him of.

McGonagall reluctantly ended the meeting as the students couldn't come to breakfast to find the staff table empty, but scheduled another one for the afternoon. While everybody was leaving, Harry turned to the woman next to him.

"Can I ask you a question, Professor Doge?"

"Yes?" She answered with a polite smile on her face.

"I've seen you reading a book on marine creatures, and I heard you asking Severus for Gillyweed—"

"Yes, this is my particular area of interest. I study underwater Transfiguration."

"Oh, that must be really exciting."

Apparently not the one for small talk, Doge just looked at Harry expectantly.

"Right. My reputation of Seer somewhat precedes me, you know. Maybe I'm not the best out there, but I try to use my talents to help others," Harry let out a small self-deprecating chuckle. McGonagall had revealed that he was the one along with Severus to expose Richardson, but didn't elaborate further than that. He reckoned he could play up his bubbling fool persona just a little bit longer. "Recently one of the students came to me with this photo." He paused.

"A photo?"

"A photo of that missing boy, Alexander Rowle. It was a strange one, with his hand all webbed, like some sea creature's. My third eye was silent that day, but maybe you have some idea about what he was doing with that? Perhaps you've had him help you in your research?"

"No, I've never spoken to him outside classes. I suppose he just swallowed some Gillyweed. Teenagers are always trying what they shouldn't." Her eyes were cold.

"Where would he find it? I gathered the boy wasn't very well-off."

"Some of my supply went missing in November," she said thoughtfully. "He probably was the one to steal it."

"So you don't—"

"Excuse me, Thompson, but I have to go to the Hospital Wing to see to the possible Transfiguration mishap. I really don't have time for this conversation right now," Doge interrupted. Her thin lips pursed into a straight line.

"Of course. Thank you for your help." Harry gave a bright smile to the Transfiguration Professor who turned her back on him and walked away briskly.

Looking around, he saw that Severus had already left, as had all the other Professors. Harry had a couple of questions, but they could wait, as the warning bells in his mind were chiming madly.

Acting on a hunch, he took a battered piece of parchment out of his pocket.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he muttered, touching the parchment with his wand and spreading it out on the staff room table impatiently.

Two minutes later, he found precisely what he was looking for. A dot labelled _Alexander Rowle_ in Pricilla Doge's office.


	14. Short-Sightedness

The Transfiguration Professor's office was on the same floor as the staffroom, so Harry didn't waste any time to get there. At first sight, it seemed to be empty. He looked around, taking in the Spartan decor, opposite of what Richardson had in his office. The walls were lined with bookshelves, but the books on them were all clearly well-used. The desk was orderly, and the chair behind it seemed more functional than comfortable. The only decoration was an aquarium on the window, which was currently empty. In fact, the only thing worth exploring seemed to be—

"No way," Harry said under his breath, examining the large trunk standing against the wall.

The lid opened to reveal spiral stairs going much lower than he expected. After a brief hesitation, Harry ventured into the darkness.

Instead of candles or sconces, incandescent bulbs on the ceiling turned on as soon as he stepped on the first stair, illuminating a cavernous room with bright white light. There were a bookshelf and a desk with parchment and a quill that was writing by itself at the bottom of the stairs, but most of the space was occupied by an enormous aquarium. Inside, down on the bottom that was much lower than the floor, a lone figure was hunched on a rock among the seaweed and fish shoals.

Harry came closer.

"Alexander? Alexander Rowle?" he shouted, unsure if he could be heard from outside.

The inhabitant of the aquarium raised his head and froze for a moment, then rushed to the glass separating them in a flurry of bubbles. He banged at it, but not a sound came over to the other side.

It was undoubtedly Alexander Rowle, but the boy looked very different from what Harry had seen in the Pensieve. His emaciated body was naked except for a crude loincloth made out of seaweed, his limbs elongated and partially covered with semi-transparent scales. His hands and feet were big and webbed, and there were gills visible behind his ears.

Rowle seemed to shout something, but Harry couldn't decipher anything except for a silent "Help".

"I can't hear you, I'm sorry," Harry said apologetically. "But I'll help you to get out of here."

Harry went to the desk and looked through the parchments. The quill was recording Rowle's vitals and other scientific data in medical jargon he couldn't even begin to understand. Other parchments didn't bring any more clarity either. He could probably understand one word out of three, and that's disregarding the Arithmantic formulas. With a sigh of frustration, Harry returned to the aquarium. The best option was to get the trunk out of Doge's office first, but he wasn't sure moving it would be safe.

There was a sound from the direction of the stairs, and Rowle looked behind Harry's shoulder with a fearful expression. Harry spun around and took out his wand.

"Tsk, tsk," Priscilla Doge said from above. "You know the saying, Thompson, that curiosity killed the cat? You had your chance to play the hero with our brute of a Defence Professor, and you should've stopped right there."

Harry ignored the taunt. "What are you doing with the boy? Why are you keeping him against his will?"

He wished Doge would step down from the stairs, but unfortunately, she seemed to be content to hold the higher ground.

"Transfiguration as a subject has been stagnant for nearly two hundred years," she said. "My colleagues have grown complacent and refuse to push the boundaries because of self-imposed restrictions, rules, ethics concerns. I've been doing something all of them are too scared to be doing, and my research will revolutionise human Transfiguration as we know it!"

"You're doing illegal human experimentation on a boy you've kidnapped."

"He is of age and gave me his consent."

From the corner of his eyes, Harry could see Rowle shaking his head frantically and banging on the glass again. He seemed to be able to hear them even if they couldn't hear anything from inside the aquarium.

"Well, maybe he got cold feet at the latest stage," Doge conceded. "But he used to be perfectly happy to do it, and I paid him exceedingly well. But I needed to observe long-term results, to verify that my new spells are truly permanent. I even offered him a three-year contract. At that stage, I couldn't waste my time to search for another study subject and begin everything anew. The boy proved to be obstinate, so I had to do what's best in the name of science," she explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

What was it with Hogwarts and criminally insane teachers?

"Was it you who got Rowle's trunk from his dormitory?" Harry asked in an attempt to buy some time.

"If you are proficient in Transfiguration, you never need to bother with unreliable potions," Doge said smugly. "But enough of this chit-chat. I have a class to teach in ten minutes." She took out her wand.

Before she could do anything, Harry raised his own in one swift gesture and fired a stunner. Unfortunately, Doge ducked behind the solid wood railing of the staircase, and the spell hit the wall. The room shook dangerously.

"You are proving to be a bother, Thompson," she said angrily. "I was going to offer you the same opportunity as Mr. Rowle, but clearly you are in dire need of a lesson."

She waved her wand in a corkscrew gesture. Harry raised a shield, but no spell hit it. Instead, a part of the floor in front of the aquarium he was standing on vanished, and he found himself toppling into the water under his feet. While he was flailing, piercing pain scalded his neck, going up behind his ears. Ignoring the knife-like sensation, he gasped for air one final time before the water came up his neck, but it brought him no relief. Suffocating, he felt the walls of the trunk closing up on him.

"Don't fight it, Thompson. You are only making it worse. You have gills now, so you'd better use them if you want to breathe."

On the edge of consciousness, Harry dove under and took a lungful of water. Instead of making him drown, as he fully expected, the breath filled his body with much-needed oxygen. While he was trying to orient himself, some invisible force propelled him backwards and up until he was at eye level with Doge on the other side of the glass. His eyes stung and his vision was blurry; apparently, his contact lenses were not suitable for underwater use. Harry took them out and the irritation stopped, but Doge remained a vaguely human shape on the stairs.

"Behold my perfect creations, Professor Thompson. Or don't, if the way you're squinting at me is any indication. If you manage to survive the encounter, we'll figure something out. I'll leave you your wand to even out the chances. But remember that you are in a glass tank."

Harry heard rather than saw Doge leaving the trunk. Turning around, he found himself facing a group of fish of different sizes, shapes and colours. Most of them with disturbingly large teeth.

"Fuck," he said. The words left his mouth with a stream of air bubbles, distorted, but intelligible.

The first fish—a glossy black one that looked like a cross between a catfish and a piranha—attacked. Harry dodged and fired a quick succession of spells at it.

" _Impedimenta_! _Stupefy_! _Diffindo_!"

The spells just bounced from the scales without stopping the fish even for a second.

" _Sectumsempra_!" This time, a gash appeared at its side, painting the water red. The fish stopped in its tracks for a moment, before charging at Harry again, the gash already healing.

" _Sectumsempra_! _Sectumsempra_! _Sectumsempra_!" Harry slashed his wand, aiming at the belly. The fish flopped around in the cloud of blood before tanking down to the bottom. Harry's relief, however, was short-lived. When his vision cleared a bit, at least four other fish had taken its place.

He felt a tug on his sleeve.

"Come on!" Rowle took Harry by the hand and steered him further into the aquarium. "You need to get rid of your robes and shoes, they just weigh you down!"

It was true; while Rowle was swimming fast, his body swift and agile, Harry's poncho felt like a dead weight hindering his every move. Still, he was reluctant to just take it off. He knew there was some use for it yet.

They arrived at a big coral reef and swam behind it. Squinting, Harry could just make out his surroundings. There were colourful anemones, algae and weird polyps reaching their semi-transparent fingers to him. Shoals of small fish flitted around the reef, thankfully paying Harry no mind. A couple of fish skeletons and an assortment of weeds were scattered around, and a crude spear made out of fishbones was leant against the pile of greenish-grey boulders.

"This is the most privacy I can get here," Rowle explained. "And when she runs her experiments, not even that. Anyway, the fish are coming, so get ready. I don't know what that spell you used was, but she bragged about them being indestructible."

"We'll see about that," Harry said, rummaging through his pocket. Taking out a red gel pen, he uncapped it, snapped it in two, and threw it over the rocks.

The loud boom rumbled across the aquarium, followed by the shaking of the bottom under their feet and rattling of the glass. Some rocks rolled away from the pile.

"Wow. Are they dead?" Rowle asked, peeking out with wide eyes.

"Probably just stunned. We'd better get out of here soon because I only had one of those," Harry said, taking off his trainers. " _Expecto Patronum_!" A ghostly stag appeared, undisturbed by the water around him. "Go to Severus and tell him that I found Rowle. Doge is responsible. We are stuck in the aquarium inside the trunk in her office."

The stag nodded, galloped to the glass and dissolved into silver vapour.

"What the—" Harry raised the wand to try again.

"Don't bother with a Patronus, Doge put up a ward against it after I managed to produce it wandlessly."

"That's impressive."

Rowle shrugged dismissively. "A fat load of good that did me."

Harry took out his powder box from his pocket and opened it under Rowle's incredulous gaze. Rowle caught the sponge that was trying to float away and poked a finger in the mushy powder in disgust.

"Do you really think it's time to powder your nose? We're underwater!"

"I always find time to look fabulous," Harry said, throwing his hair back in his best Lockhart impression. Being underwater, he didn't really succeed.

"Right." Rowle looked at the halo of wild hair around Harry's head, at his poncho floating around him like a giant stingray, and then at his discarded trainers that had seen better times.

"Severus!" Harry called at the mirror, ignoring Rowle.

The mirror remained silent. Harry remembered that Severus had a lesson right now, so he decided to call Pansy next.

"Potter? I have a meeting with Mrs. Featherwright, so you'd better... Circe's tits, Harry, are you underwater?" Pansy's voice was muffled but intelligible.

"Yeah, Transfiguration Professor turned out to be a crazy psycho who kidnapped Rowle and now me for experiments. We are in an aquarium along with some killer fish. It's inside the trunk in her office."

"What? I can't hear a thing you are saying. Are you at Hogwarts now?"

Harry nodded frantically.

"Is it the Black Lake?"

Harry shook his head. He tried to articulate "Transfiguration", but doubted he succeeded because of all the water around him. Pantomime has never been one of his party tricks.

"How do you always find yourself in so much trouble? I'm coming to Hogwarts." With that, Pansy cut the connection.

Rowle looked at Harry in surprise, eyes flicking to his forehead where the makeup was probably washed away already.

"Doge called you Professor Thompson, but this woman—"

"Yes, yes, I'm actually Harry Potter," Harry said tiredly. "Though Doge doesn't know that. I'm at Hogwarts undercover as a Divination Professor."

"Oh." Rowle gave Harry a once over again, this time with understanding on his face. "Why did you need to go undercover?"

"Your friend's grandfather hired me to find you."

"Really?" The boy asked in disbelief, but a hopeful expression flitted across his face for the first time. "I didn't think anyone would bother. Doge said they all swallowed her story about me running away. She was expecting at least some effort to find me, and then gloated that everybody was happy to see me go. I understand why Doge chose me, you know. Nobody here would miss me. Maybe Ed, but he has his girlfriend now," he said bitterly.

"It's not true, and you shouldn't listen to that vile woman," Harry said softly. "Both Edgar and Emma are very worried about you and haven't bought that you just ran away without telling anybody even for a minute. You mother is very worried as well. Tell you what, even Mr. Talbott feels sorry."

Rowle looked at Harry with open scepticism at the last name. "Next you'll be telling me that Richardson's rescuing puppies in his spare time."

"Well, no, but you'll probably be pleased to hear that he was fired yesterday."

"Really?" Rowle's eyes widened in surprise.

They sat behind the reef for twenty or so minutes, Harry trying all the spells he could think of that wouldn't do any irreparable damage, and Rowle sharpening his spear. Suddenly, there was a muffled sound behind the rocks.

Harry looked out and saw the fish coming to life. He squinted, but without his lenses or glasses, they looked like moving blurred shapes at this distance. He tried to create a cage around them, but it disintegrated in mere seconds.

"Only she can conjure and transfigure things in here," Rowle explained grimly.

The light outside the aquarium went on again, and Harry turned around to see a vague black shape hurrying down the stairs.

"Look out, Mr. Potter!" Rowle shouted, bringing Harry's attention back to the murderous fish.

Harry spun around and fired the Entrail-Expelling curse with as much power behind it as he could muster. The huge lionfish with white and orange stripes and stingers that was about to attack him exploded in a cloud of something Harry would most definitely find disgusting if he could actually see it properly. From the corner of his eye, he saw the figure approach the pool of water in front of the glass where the floor used to be. They probed the air with their hand and then wand, but there seemed to be some sort of magic barrier erected.

"Bring her down!" Harry heard Severus's voice. He couldn't help his heart fluttering madly. Another figure floated rather than came down the stairs and landed with a heavy thud.

Harry turned away from the scene to fight three fish swimming at him. Two were flat and black and white. Their spines and fins looked extremely sharp. The third one was long and had a fluorescent head and barbells. Harry wasn't sure, but he had an uneasy feeling that parts of its scales were missing. He hoped they were simply transparent.

While he was fighting the fish, Severus revived the person on the floor.

" _Ennervate_! How to dismantle the wards here?"

The only answer was a burst of female laughter.

" _Imperio_! Answer the question!"

"Unforgivables, really, Severus? Aren't you supposed to be redeemed and all toothless now?" Harry recognised Doge's voice. "My will is stronger than yours. No human would cross that line except for me!"

"No human, you say? We'll see about that," There was Pansy's voice from the stairs.

She marched to the pool and discarded her robe and boots. The next second, a large shark was diving inside and swimming under the glass to the main aquarium.

The shark joined Harry who by now had five new murderous fish to deal with and charged at them.

"Be careful!" Harry shouted, angling his curses away from the shark.

The only response he got was a snap of the huge sharp teeth.

"Well, at least try not to eat them. I bet they'd mess up your stomach worse than those prawn cocktail crisps we ate last month!"

The fight, if it could be called that, was quick and messy. Doge did her best to make the fish spell-resistant but thankfully didn't think to protect them from the steel-like jaws of a fellow aquatic creature. Harry winced at some especially disgusting sounds followed by anguished cries from the other side of the glass. They stopped abruptly even before everything was over with a stunner from Severus.

Finally, Pansy turned back into a human, whipped her wand and cast a Bubble-Head Charm. The ease with which she did it looked really impressive, although Harry knew that she practised the move for three days straight when they were tracking Celestina Warbeck's glamour expert on Ibiza. She had pissed off the entire local mermish community and learned the hard way that attempting to eat a grindylow was a bad idea, but now she could do the underwater transformation on reflex.

"It just wouldn't be Hogwarts without some insane murder plot to get you," she said, inspecting his gills critically. Her voice was all businesslike, but Harry saw worry flickering in her eyes. "And take off your po—robes, for Merlin sake! There's such thing as taking dedication to the job too far."

Harry sheepishly disentangled himself from the poncho. Pansy turned to Rowle who was watching her with an awed expression and ran a number of spells on him.

"We can probably sort you out soon enough, Potter, but this here will take longer. Thankfully, Doge seems like the type to keep records."

She turned back into a shark just as somebody else appeared on the stairs. Harry recognized McGonagall's Scottish brogue.

"Priscilla? Severus? Mr. Talbott gave me some tall tale—Merlin!"

Pansy jumped out of the water and transformed back on the other side of the barrier.

"Ms. Parkinson!" McGonagall exclaimed. "What is the meaning of this? Are you somehow involved in… whatever this is?"

"How typical," Pansy scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. "Here I am, saving Harry Potter's life, for everybody just to jump to the worst conclusions they could possibly come up with."

"Harry Potter?" McGonagall repeated blankly.

Harry waved his hand from behind his glass. He really wished he could see her face right now.

* * *

Two hours and Bill Weasley's visit later, Harry was finally out of the aquarium. Bill managed to break Doge's wards rather quickly, but her Transfiguration spells on Harry proved to be more difficult. Fortunately, she did keep meticulous records, so Pansy, Severus and McGonagall found the spells they needed in her logs soon after. McGonagall wanted to perform the counter herself, but after the ensuing argument, she conceded that Pansy was proficient enough to do that. Finding the right counterspells for Rowle would require much more work, and half of them would have to be developed from scratch.

As soon as Harry emerged from the water, Pansy and McGonagall returned to Doge's notes, deep in a discussion he couldn't even hope to understand. Instead, he took a couple of careful steps to Severus, squinting myopically. Severus raised his wand, making Harry stop in his tracks, but the other man simply dried his clothes and directed him towards the spiral stairs, following closely behind.

"You are an idiot, Potter." Severus sighed tiredly when they came out of the trunk. "What made you think that climbing into this thing without warning anybody was a good idea?"

"I thought I had some time before her return." Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "And I certainly didn't expect… that. How did you find me?"

"Talbott barged into my classroom. Apparently, Doge touched him in the hospital wing and he had a vision about her with you and Rowle in this aquarium. Considering that the boy still had his tiger head and paws at the time, it was a rather difficult message to communicate."

"But you still got it." Harry smiled. Summoning up his courage, he blurted, "I'm sorry I deceived you, Severus. I wanted to tell you, but I knew that as soon as I did, you would act differently, and I… I really like you, you know," he finished lamely, taking another step forward to see Severus's face better.

"You are an idiot," Severus repeated but didn't step back.

Harry took that as encouragement as he swayed forward to touch Severus's lips with his own. At first, Severus was unresponsive, but then his lips opened, returning the kiss. Growing bolder, Harry put his hands on Severus's chest. His head swam, but whether it was an after-effect of being underwater or breathing in Severus's aftershave, Harry didn't know or care.

There was a gasp behind them, and Severus broke the kiss, quickly stepping away. McGonagall climbed out of the trunk, levitating a big pile of parchments in front of her. She cleared her throat.

"I… have a lot of matters to address, so I'm going to my office for now. Miss Parkinson generously agreed to stay and help research the spells Priscilla used on Mr. Rowle and the counters to them. See you at the staff meeting today, gentlemen." After a pause, she added, "And we'll definitely be having a _conversation_ after I deal with the most pressing issues, Mr. Potter. You can be sure of that." With that, she left the office, muttering something about one surprise too many under her breath.


	15. Aftermath

It was two days since his imprisonment in a tank with murderous fish by a crazy Transfiguration Professor, but Harry barely had a chance to have even a quick word with Severus. There was a flurry of activity in the castle, and Harry found himself in the middle of it. The Aurors were constantly coming and going, interviewing the staff and students and generally putting on the appearance of efficient work after the fact, as they were wont to do. At least three reporters managed to sneak past the wards, reporting every sordid rumour the students (and some teachers) gleefully supplied them with. The double scandal was unlikely to leave the front page of _The Daily Prophet_ any time soon. Last but not least, the Board of Governors descended on Hogwarts, led by Ethelred Farley, and Harry found himself in the unwelcome position of an intermediary between him and McGonagall.

Rowle was still in the aquarium, although when Harry last brought some sandwiches to her inside the trunk, Pansy assured that he would be out of it soon. Her hair was immaculate as always, but her eyes were red-rimmed. Harry suspected she hadn't had more than a few hours of sleep these past days. Pansy could hide how much she cared behind her sharp tongue and abrasive personality well enough to fool most, but he certainly knew better. McGonagall joined Pansy in the research as often as she could, but as the Headmistress, she was needed everywhere at once. She probably didn't have much more sleep than Pansy either.

Edgar and Emma spent most of their time outside classes with Rowle, and Talbott sneaked there once. Harry had dire threats on his tongue when he caught him coming out of the Doge's trunk during the lunchtime, but they turned out to be unnecessary. The boy was subdued, but his eyes shone with a newfound resolve. Pansy reported that the boys had reached an understanding, although she refused to divulge anything more. Still, Harry warded the office after that, which turned out to be a sound decision: other than curious students, the wards stopped unwanted reporters and helped shrink the ranks of some gawking professors and Board Members.

Antonia Burke came to see her son as soon as she received a note from Aurora, even though a trip on the Knight Bus took what little energy she possessed and left her collapsed on the Hogwarts steps. Harry loaned her his communication mirror so she could speak to Rowle from the hospital wing, and Bill enchanted her son's—previously Pansy's—counterpart to work underwater. Bill also got interested in Mrs. Burke's curse and extracted a promise from her to come to their office. Curses on people were Fleur's field of expertise, but he thought he recognised this one from the war. They might not be able to lift the curse, but alleviating the symptoms was a definite possibility. Afraid to raise her hopes up, Mrs. Burke nevertheless reluctantly agreed to come after her son was out of the trunk.

Finally, after two days of only brushing shoulders, Harry found himself exiting from Severus's floo. He had spent the last hour trying to find something decent in his Seer wardrobe to wear. After trying on and discarding everything he took with him to Hogwarts, he decided on the new jeans Pansy had bought for him, a green shirt and open robes he ended up asking Kreacher to bring him from home. Against all odds, Harry had come to love his poncho, but it was high time for it to go. He had shaved his beard the day before. Although he enjoyed the anonymity it got him, he had to come clean. He was also in a dire need of a haircut, but it would have to wait for a few days. For now, Harry did his best to wrangle his hair into a neat ponytail. It didn't look like it was going to stay there for long.

"I come bearing gifts," Harry announced, holding the bottle of wine in front of himself like a shield.

"Is that so?" Severus drawled, raising his head from the homework he was marking. Instead of his usual robes, he was wearing black slacks and a white button-down shirt, and his own hair was down again, almost reaching to his shoulders.

Harry tried and failed not to ogle him too overtly.

"Yeah. You seemed to like this stuff, and I had another bottle back home."

"Only you can throw around Narcissa's vintage like it's pumpkin juice."

"I'm not throwing it around, I brought it just for you," Harry said, handing the bottle over. Standing up from his desk, Severus took it. "Hey, how did you know it's from Narcissa?"

"It's from the Malfoy vineyard in France. Lucius and Narcissa have a list of important people they send a bottle for Christmases and birthdays. It used to be a great source of envy for some people to receive one," Severus's tone left little doubt as to what he himself thought of that. He went to the kitchenette table to open the wine.

Harry snorted and then frowned. "You didn't ask me about that the first time we drank it, though."

Severus studied him for a long time. "Well, you obviously weren't up to sharing your secrets. And besides, I already had my suspicions about you by then."

"You did?!" Harry spluttered.

"I would like to say I suspected from the start, but I didn't. I took a closer look at you when Draco's owl delivered that howler you dealt with so expertly."

"Oh." He didn't expect that.

"I still didn't recognise you then, but I did notice that you knew the school much too well for somebody who hadn't been here before. So I carefully approached Draco."

"I imagine your reaction then."

"Well, for one, I didn't realise that Draco had a habit of sending multiple howlers a day, or that his paranoia rivals Lucius's. But yes. I was quite... incensed." Severus turned away to take glasses from the cupboard.

"But you aren't mad anymore, are you?" Harry asked hopefully, stepping closer. "I can fight some more killer fish to atone for my deception."

That got him a snort. "That would only further prove your recklessness, arrogance and utter lack of common sense, as if anyone needs a reminder of that. However... you did defy my expectations," Severus said with his back still to Harry, hair obscuring his face.

Harry put his hand on Severus's arm.

"What is it that you want from me, Potter?"

"Anything. Everything. McGonagall asked me to stay as a temporary Defence Professor until she finds someone suitable. Maybe until the end of the term. We can take it from there."

"I don't want to end up in Azkaban after all this time for murdering the Saviour of the Wizarding World after this inevitably ends in disaster," Severus grumbled, finally turning to face Harry.

Who laughed and kissed him silly.

* * *

 **The End**

Thank you for reading! For more adventures of Harry Potter, P.I., check out the sequel, In Vogue.


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